


It Came from Outer Space

by tptplayer5701



Series: "Mind Games"-verse [31]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alya Césaire Knows, Antagonist POV, Fox Alya Césaire | Rena Rouge, Gen, Horror Elements, Horse Max Kanté | Pegasus, Kwami & Miraculous Lore, Minor Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Mystery, Outer Space, Post-Hawk Moth Defeat, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 08:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26969224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tptplayer5701/pseuds/tptplayer5701
Summary: A "Mind Games"-verse Story:Turing let out an excited chirp. “Police report coming in!” he announced. “Energy weapons are being discharged near Warehouse 15!”“‘Fifteen,’” Max repeated, waving for Markov to display it on his holographic map. “That is one of the warehouses we suspect of producing Lynchpin’s energy weapons!”“Where are King Monkey and Miss Pinky right now?” asked Alya, shifting into action mode.“Opposite side of town,” reported Max, glancing at the map.“It’s only one arrondissement over on the river,” Alya commented, running for the elevator as Trixx joined her from where he had been stalking butterflies on the other side of the garden. “I’ll go check it out!”
Relationships: Alya Césaire & Max Kanté, Alya Césaire & Trixx, Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe, Kaalki & Max Kanté, Max Kanté & Markov, Max Kanté/Sabrina Raincomprix
Series: "Mind Games"-verse [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666807
Comments: 62
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

Alya leaned against the lab door as she watched Max manipulate a holographic design Markov was projecting over his lab table. She frowned as she tried to determine what it was supposed to be. It vaguely resembled a plane, but not like any plane Alya had seen before. The design appeared to have wings, but they extended down the length of the ship and were swept up so the tips were nearly at the same height as the tail. Max expanded the nose section of the design, exposed the internal structure, and shifted a few objects around before collapsing it back together.

“Shouldn’t you be working on the mole hunt?” Alya asked, arching an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t Roger say they’re trying to launch the new department by the end of this month? It’s not like we’ll have much time to finish his project after school starts.”

“I have already confirmed your evaluations from this afternoon,” replied Max, not taking his eyes off the cockpit schematic in front of him. “At the moment I am simply taking a break to work on a side project.”

Alya nodded, sighing. “That’s fair,” she acknowledged. “To be honest, I know what you mean. I’ve spent the last hour taking a break from Roger’s thing to go over that stack of missing persons cases from the last year.” She snorted. “To think missing people would be the ‘break’… Still, if I have to read through another police personnel report, I may go cross-eyed! I get why he wants our help to make sure none of his new men are moles – if they’re going to work closely with _us_ , _I_ sure as hell want to know that we can trust them. But at the same time, I really didn’t think being a superhero would involve helping the police make staffing decisions! _Or_ that it would mean so much paperwork!”

Max looked up at her and chuckled. “This is a logical next step,” he pointed out. “After all, while Lynchpin’s smuggling operations have been disrupted for now, he may still rebuild if we are not vigilant. And if he succeeds in infiltrating the police any further – particularly this nascent Superhero Liaison Department – the chances of him regaining what he lost would increase exponentially.”

Alya hummed and looked around the lab. Two alien space pods rested against the cavern wall just outside the lab, one almost intact and the other stripped down to the outer shell. The second Mecha-Man armor was propped up in one corner of the lab with wires and cables connecting it to a tablet. Evidence of the Heroes’ victories over Lynchpin since the summer began. So much time and effort put into it – and by heroes working on four continents. “What are the latest crime stats?” she asked finally, turning to look at Max. “Did we really manage to stop Lynchpin in his tracks?”

Max glanced over at Turing, who was hovering in front of the bank of monitors, and the robot flew across to project a graph into the space between Max and Alya. “He most definitely feels the aftereffects of our raids last month,” Max confirmed, nodding. “Drug-related crime is down 54%, and the number of admissions to the Agreste Foundation’s treatment facilities has increased steadily ever since we broke Lynchpin’s supply line. Roger says that the Population Protection Directorate believes that even if the influx of drugs were to increase once more, this disruption has gone long enough that it may never return to those record highs experienced at the beginning of the summer. The ready customer base into which Lynchpin tapped has decreased due to lack of supply and a wealth of alternative options.”

“So that means we took out _one_ of Lynchpin’s income sources,” Alya noted with an approving nod. “It’s a pity we don’t know for sure where else he’s getting his money from. If we could go after all of them, we could put him entirely out of business. And maybe then we could go after him directly.”

“Beyond a small uptick in counterfeiting of all forms, I have noted an increase in low-quality energy weapons being used for petty crime,” Max informed her, tossing her a small handheld device the size and rough shape of a pistol. “The ones used by Lynchpin’s forces are much more efficient and powerful than these, but they bear many of the same design features. I would say there is a 74% probability of the designs being connected in some way.”

“You think Lynchpin is selling energy weapons to criminals now?”

“Not his highest-quality weapons by any means, but a variation of the earlier models,” Max confirmed. “Having stress-tested three of them, it only has a lifespan of approximately 50 pulses under normal circumstances; under extreme circumstances that drops to no more than 15.”

“And let me guess: as soon as that lifespan ends, you need to buy a new gun?” Alya asked, raising an eyebrow. She tested the feel of the handgun in her hand and shook her head in grudging admiration. “Lynchpin may be an evil criminal mastermind, but he knows his business. At least this means we only need to find and shut down wherever he’s making these things, and the problem should sort itself out eventually.”

“We have leads on a few potential locations,” Max informed her. “Bengalia has planted cameras around three of them already, with four more on her schedule for this week. One of them she identified as housing a fashion counterfeiting operation. I passed that on to Roger, and he would like to keep it under surveillance for now to find out Lynchpin’s distributors.”

“Bengalia’s really been on top of this whole situation, hasn’t she?” Alya observed rhetorically. “Got us the break on Lynchpin’s police mole in the 21st Arrondissement the same night she helped me out on Spring Break, then Honfleur, now this.” She furrowed her brow thoughtfully. “What if we leak the information slowly to different departments? Watching to see when Lynchpin decides to move it could give us somewhere to look for any more moles.”

“I will pass the suggestion along to Roger and set up the sting,” Max promised. He started and stared at her in confusion. “I apologize, but did you say that Bengalia helped you during Spring Break?”

“The night we tried baiting Lynchpin into revealing Chloe’s location,” explained Alya. “The same night she recorded that police mole.”

He frowned, his eyes widening in surprise. “Bengalia was nowhere close to your position that night.”

“Really?” Alya furrowed her brows in confusion. “But I was so sure it had to have been her.” She shrugged. “I guess that’s another ‘unsolved mystery’ to add to the pile.”

“File that alongside ‘Why did Officer Ricard think that a new Ferrari was the best use of his bribery money?’” Max noted, shaking his head. “Did he think we would miss that?”

“It made _our_ job so much easier,” Alya commented, giggling. “Not like Officer Couturat – we wouldn’t have known there was anything to worry about if Geber hadn’t spotted him on patrol coming out of the bar that one time.”

“Have you determined yet whether he _is_ compromised?” asked Max curiously.

Alya shook her head. “No evidence of it – or at least not yet. But considering his… ‘nocturnal activities’… he’s a definite blackmail target. And Lynchpin loves his blackmail.”

Max nodded in acceptance and made another adjustment to his design. Alya watched quietly for a minute, still unsure of what it was supposed to be. Max sighed, saved his work, and closed the blueprint. “Have you heard from the others?” he asked, adjusting his glasses and meeting Alya’s eye.

She shrugged. “Not as often as I might have expected,” she replied. “Nino calls every day – probably so he doesn’t have to spend _all_ his time with Felix.”

“Friction?”

“He may have Adrien’s _looks_ , but he does _not_ have his personality,” Alya agreed sourly. She brightened, smiling fondly. “Of course, you know Nino: he can get along with practically anyone.”

“At least he is only in London for another few days for this training,” Max consoled her.

“I know. And I could go for a visit anytime I want, but that would mean seeing Felix!” Alya sighed. Marinette may have forgiven Felix and decided to trust him with the Dog Miraculous after he helped them fix the Peacock Miraculous and wake up Emilie, but that didn’t mean Alya had to forgive him. Or like him. She shrugged. “Marinette texted yesterday to say their conference in Australia is going remarkably well, at least.”

“That is good to hear.”

She nodded. “She doesn’t know how long they’re going to be there – they’re definitely returning before school starts, but that’s their only time limit,” she reported. “But considering that this is the first meeting of the leaders of the four Miraculous Orders since the destruction of Atlantis, they’ve got a lot to discuss.”

“They certainly need to decide what to do about these Atlantean Miraculous,” Max agreed. “I have found a way to identify energy from miraculous, but it is still limited. It is only detectable when a miraculous is activated and the ability is used, and even then the range for detection is extremely limited – as of now, Lupa Gris is still our best option for finding active miraculous.”

“Every little bit will help,” pointed out Alya. “Even if we can just get a general idea of where in the world people might be using Atlantean Miraculous, that would give us somewhere to start the search.”

“Their meeting is productive I hope?”

Alya grinned. “From what Marinette said, it’s pretty amazing. Apparently after their meetings they have time to visit the rest of the island, and it’s something else. Did you get to see much of their temple-island when you installed their portal ring?”

“No.” Max shook his head. “I did not have time for exploration. Why?”

“According to Marinette, the island is completely off-limits to outsiders: the wards protecting the temple actually cover the entire island so you can’t even _see_ it without permission,” she explained. “So Kwamis can travel around the island completely in the open the same way they do in the Mansion.”

“That sounds pretty amazing!” Kaalki observed from the lab table. “While I don’t mind the conditions most of the time, every so often I do want to stay somewhere other than your pocket!”

“Should I set up a spot for you to ride around inside Markov?” Max asked, smirking.

“What! No, I–”

Turing interrupted the Kwami with an excited chirp. “Police report coming in!” he announced. “Energy weapons are being discharged near Warehouse 15!”

“‘Fifteen,’” Max repeated, waving for Markov to display it on his holographic map. “That is one of the warehouses we suspect of producing Lynchpin’s energy weapons!”

“Where are King Monkey and Miss Pinky right now?” asked Alya, shifting into action mode.

“Opposite side of town,” reported Max, glancing at the map.

“It’s only one arrondissement over on the river,” Alya commented, running for the elevator as Trixx joined her from where he had been stalking butterflies on the other side of the garden. “I’ll go check it out!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: For those who started reading more recently, Lupa Gris is Julia, the American Wolf Miraculous user who has been staying with the Heroes of Paris for several months. Her miraculous allows her to sense the presence of active miraculous. The references to Alya’s and Bengalia’s activities during Spring Break are to “The Queen Is Dead” [chapter 7](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24752512/chapters/60134647) and “The Queen Is Dead: Mission Logs” [chapter 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24791269/chapters/60148498), respectively. The meeting in Australia will appear in a one-shot immediately following this story, either in [“The Woman out of the Fridge”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26747443/chapters/65253148) or [“The Life and Times of the Heroes of Europe.”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26771119/chapters/65305408)


	2. Chapter 2

Étienne lay prone on the roof across from the warehouse he had been watching for the last two weeks, peering through his night-vision goggles at the trio of men standing in front of the two entrances. Another four would be spread around the sides of the warehouse – evidently Lynchpin had learned something from the Heroes’ blitz attack last month. Of the three in front, Étienne recognized one – Jacques, Marin’s lieutenant. Of the others, one wore the brown robes of a Dark Acolyte Novice. The Prior must really be running short of followers if he was entrusting this warehouse to a novice.

Especially since the Heroes already knew about it.

He had first suspected their interest early into his surveillance when Cat Noir and Miss Pinky had hesitated for just a beat too long on the roof of a warehouse a block away before turning to follow the river. It hadn’t been much, but years of practice learning to read potential targets suggested there was some recognition there. After that the Heroes had begun to give the area a wide berth, even though their normal patrol routes would have passed the warehouse at least twice every week. Some might have taken that as a sign that they weren’t interested, but Étienne knew better: they were still watching it, but from a distance. They were luring Lynchpin into a false sense of security.

If that was the case, they were going to bust this operation sooner than later, and Étienne had to do a little “shopping” before they came in to initiate the “fire sale.”

All that stood between him and the prize – outside, at least – were seven guards who didn’t yet realize they were dead. Étienne frowned. He’d been one of them, not too long ago – even if he’d never stood outside a warehouse in the middle of the night. Like them, he’d been one of the poor saps who got caught up in Night Bat and Lynchpin’s scheming. He wasn’t really here to fight these guys; their mistake was getting in his way. His issue was with the one who had betrayed him.

Étienne had single-handedly captured a miraculous user, and Night Bat had played it off as nothing. Not only that, but he had gotten _angry_ at Étienne for upstaging him! Night Bat had a miraculous himself, and he would get upset with Étienne for proving he could do what Night Bat could: go toe-to-toe with a miraculous user in a battle of wits and come out on top! Étienne had his own skills – skills born out of natural ability, coupled with years of intensive training. He had never been given a magical object that would let him circumvent that need for training. He had made do with what he had. And he had become the best. He’d proven that, and Night Bat had betrayed him.

He might not take pleasure in what he was about to do, but Étienne couldn’t hesitate. This was just the next step in his revenge.

Slowly he crawled away from the edge of the roof, careful to make no noise. Finding the far side, he lowered himself off the roof by his fingertips before dropping to the ground. Stooping low he moved around the warehouse to find the path he’d already scouted. In two minutes the guards would reposition, and that would give him his window. Sure enough, like clockwork two of the guards went inside while the third moved to the opposite corner of the building. Their replacements would be out in less than thirty seconds. Careful of his footing to avoid any noise that would give away his position, Étienne raced across the loading yard, bent almost double to present the smallest profile possible.

The lone guard still outside had his back turned to Étienne for just a moment too long, his attention split between the river and the street. Étienne approached him quickly, his footsteps silent until he was right behind the man. No one inside the warehouse could have heard a thing over the machinery noises within. Étienne took his eyes off the ground to track his target, moments before his foot found a loose stone. The target started on hearing the gravel shift and began to turn around, only for Étienne to wrap one arm around his head. Placing the other under his neck, he twisted with practiced ease. There was an audible snap, and Étienne lowered the suddenly limp body to the ground, just as the three replacements emerged from inside.

“Hey, Luc!” one called. “Where are you, man?”

Étienne withdrew a pair of throwing knives from sheaths on his belt and threw one underhand, catching the speaker in the chest, the blade sliding in right between two ribs. Before his body hit the ground, Étienne had already closed the distance and slit the second man’s throat. The final guard’s jaw hung open as he stared at his two companions’ bodies, and Étienne made quick work of him, snapping his neck like Luc’s.

A rasping breath pierced the silence as the air escaped from the lungs of the man whose throat he’d slit.

Damn.

Étienne heard pounding footsteps from both directions as the guards on the other sides of the warehouse converged on his location. He jerked the throwing knife out of the one man’s chest, wiping the blade on the man’s shirt before securing it back in its sheath. Surprise was out the window. His pistol came out of its holster.

The first man to round the corner took an energy beam directly to the chest, gasped in shock, and fell to the ground, tripping up the man behind him. The two coming from the opposite direction raced out together, splitting up so Étienne couldn’t target both of them together. Even so, he shot the first one before he had taken more than three steps toward him. The second followed moments later. The energy pistol in Étienne’s hand burned from the rapid cycling. He whipped around to find the final guard just staggering to his feet, took careful aim, and shot. The pistol whined in protest and emitted a puff of acrid smoke. Étienne gave the pistol a look of disgust before throwing it at the surviving guard, striking him in the forehead. “Damn piece of crap,” he muttered.

Eight down, and it didn’t sound like anyone inside the warehouse even realized there was a problem.

Étienne’s eyes scanned his surroundings carefully. Despite his weeks of preparation, he hadn’t gotten an exact read on how many people to expect inside. He set his jaw and kicked the door open.

Inside the warehouse were workbenches, at each of which three people were working to assemble energy weapons. Crates of completed pistols identical to the one Étienne had thrown away sat next to most of them, but one along the far wall held a small number of pistols with darker-colored handles, similar to those carried by the guards. The workers all looked up at his surprise appearance, staring at him in shock for a moment before panic erupted. Étienne couldn’t concern himself with the fleeing workers, however: the other ten guards inside the warehouse immediately converged on his position.

Étienne easily ducked beneath the first wild energy shot aimed in his direction, withdrew his telescoping baton from his belt, and flicked it out to full length. The two closest guards reached him a moment later. The one to his left swung the butt of his rifle at Étienne’s face, and Étienne sidestepped, allowing the rifle-butt to strike the man on the other side. He smacked the first guard in the side, just under the ribs, with his baton before slamming his palm into the man’s nose. That man dropped, and Étienne threw his foot back, tripping up the second man.

A weapon activated with a whir on the far side of the room, and Étienne dove for cover moments before an energy beam lanced straight through the space he had just occupied. When the beam ended, he sprang to one knee and threw a knife at the shooter. A pair of legs appeared in his peripheral vision, and Étienne lashed out with his baton, catching the side of the knee. The man fell to the ground with a scream, and Étienne stomped his face as he pushed himself back to his feet.

Of the remaining seven guards, three were keeping their distance, using the workbenches for cover. The other four had moved in closer, with one just visible as a shadow in Étienne’s peripheral vision, attempting to flank him. One of the men in front of him fired, and Étienne sidestepped before bringing his baton up and slamming it into the man’s throat. He kicked the man next to him in the chest, spun around, and kicked him a second time, sending him backward over the workbench behind him. Energy pistols and components scattered across the floor in all directions. The final man in front of him lined up a hasty shot with his pistol, missed Étienne, and hit the thug behind him. Étienne kicked a pistol at the man’s legs as he charged to close the distance. The man stepped on the pistol, lost his balance, and fell. Étienne put him out of his misery with a kick to the face.

Étienne ducked behind a workbench the moment before the last three guards opened up on him. A discarded pistol battery pack lay on the ground next to him, and he picked it up. Timing the throw perfectly, he tossed the battery pack in a high arc that brought it into the line of fire for one of the shooters just in front of his gun’s barrel. The pack exploded when the energy struck it, and Étienne heard a scream of agony from the injured men. One kicked a workbench in his writhing, knocking the bench over on top of himself.

Nine down. That just left the boss– “Hey, Marin!” Étienne shouted. “Give up, man! You’re not gonna win!”

“Not happening Tirreur!” retorted Marin from the far side of the warehouse. “I let you go after this and Lynchpin will feed me my toes! You may have nothing to lose; the rest of us ain’t so lucky!” something whistled past Étienne’s workbench, and he dove for cover an instant before Marin shot the battery pack, detonating it directly above where Étienne had been hiding moments earlier. “Besides, if I bring you in, I’m set for life!”

Étienne stood up and shrugged. “Your funeral, man.” Marin stood in a fighting stance on almost the opposite side of the warehouse, his pistol in one hand. Étienne took in his surroundings and acted before Marin could fire. Another throwing knife came out in the blink of an eye and cut through the cable holding up the fluorescent light above Marin’s head. The light swung around and struck him in the back of the head with a crash, knocking him to the ground, the pistol flying out of his hand. Étienne strode over to him, stopping right above him. The swinging light above him cast moving, flickering shadows over everything.

“Truce, man?” Marin asked, wincing as he rubbed the back of his head.

Étienne shook his head. “You did try to kill me just now,” he pointed out, taking a knee, grabbing Marin’s hair, and slamming his face into the concrete. “I have a thing about people who try to kill me.”

A glance showed Étienne that he was alone in the warehouse – the surviving workers had all fled. Dropping small devices into the crates of cheap pistols as he passed, he quickly made his way across the warehouse to the back wall. He selected two of the higher-quality pistols from the last crate. Sighting down the barrel of one, he nodded and slid both pistols into his empty thigh holsters. Satisfied, he finally approached the lockbox near the office. A single rap with his baton broke the padlock, and he found two items. The first was an alien energy pistol – despite their best efforts Lynchpin’s engineers still hadn’t replicated the aliens’ own energy output. The second was his prize: the meter-long black rifle with over-under barrels and scope that he had designed personally a week before his falling-out with Night Bat. He grabbed the three battery packs sitting under the rifle, slammed one home in the grip, and stored the other two in the dedicated compartment in the stock. A magazine of chi-putty pellets went into its slot beneath the second barrel next, and he slung it across his back.

Satisfied, Étienne picked his way through the tangle of bodies – some breathing – to the front door. The moment he was safely outside he stopped.

Rena Rouge stood in front of him, arms folded and an expression of wide-eyed shock on her face.


	3. Chapter 3

“What do you see on the cameras?” Rena Rouge asked, planting her hand on the edge of a roof and swinging herself over onto the next building. She landed on her feet and raced across, stooping over low.

“Very little, unfortunately,” reported Max. She could hear typing in the background. “The guards began their shift change as expected, but the moment the second group appeared they began running around in an agitated manner. There were multiple discharges of energy weapons, and the glow illuminated someone in dark clothing. The door opened and then… nothing.”

“Any description of who did it?”

“Negative,” he replied. “Just the dark clothing. The assailant never turned to face the cameras. He approached the warehouse in a blind spot.”

“A ‘blind spot’,” Rena Rouge deadpanned, stopping on the roof of the warehouse next to the target. “Since when does Bengalia leave blind spots when she put up these cameras?”

“It is a rare occurrence,” Max agreed.

She hummed contemplatively. The warehouse windows had been blacked out; very little light could escape from them, and the assailant had closed the door on entering. Assuming that Bengalia had installed the cameras correctly, someone must have found and redirected them in the last two weeks – and done it slowly enough for them not to notice the change. “Son of a bitch,” she grumbled. “I guess _this_ surveillance was blown.”

“So it would appear.”

Rena Rouge dropped silently into the loading yard and rolled to her feet, her flute coming smoothly up to a low ready position. Her first indication that something was _wrong_ was the smell. Too faint for normal senses, the coppery scent of blood mingled with something less pleasant and stood out clearly to her miraculous-enhanced nose, despite the smells of machinery and grease that permeated this entire section of the city. She slowly picked her way around the wrecked cars and shipping containers dotting the loading yard until she was less than ten meters from the warehouse door. She could hear the sounds of a raging battle inside, punctuated by the flashes of energy weapons discharging. In the reflected light, Rena Rouge saw the immobile shapes sprawled all along the front of the warehouse. She knelt next to the closest form to find a man with his neck bent at an odd angle, his eyes staring sightlessly ahead. Even as she touched two fingers to his neck she knew it was pointless – his neck was snapped completely. The battle within the warehouse ended, and in the sudden silence she strained her ears for signs of life from any of the other guards lying on the ground. The only sound was the pounding of her own heartbeat.

She jumped to her feet, her grip on the flute tightening, as the warehouse door slammed open and out stepped Le Tirreur.

“I should have figured this was your handiwork,” Rena Rouge observed, raising an eyebrow at him. “Still, this is a lot of bodies, even for you.”

Le Tirreur shrugged. “What can I say? I’m effective.”

“How many of them did you work with?”

“Enough.”

“How many had families?”

“Enough.” He nodded to the man at her feet. “His kid should be starting école élémentaire this year, though last I knew he and the mother weren’t exactly on speaking terms – she threw a frying pan at his head when she found out he’d hired a hooker after a job.” He scoffed. “What’s it matter to you, anyways, Foxy? Shouldn’t you be thanking me? After all, the more of them I kill, the less you have to worry about.”

She gave him a disappointed look. “You may have saved us the trouble of having to break up this operation, but a lot of families are going to be burying someone.”

“Less than if I’d left the place intact.”

“Maybe,” she conceded, “but how many of them were just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

He shrugged. “Most of them. They were in my way.”

“So how long will it be before you decide me and my friends are ‘in your way’?” she asked, folding her arms and arching an eyebrow at him. “How long before _we_ ’re the ones you start killing indiscriminately?”

“That depends,” he replied, giving her a hard look. “Do you plan to get in my way?”

“I guess _that_ depends on where you think you’re going.”

He laughed scornfully. “You know, under other circumstances maybe we could get along. You and your friends seem nice enough – at least when we’re not trying to kill each other. I’m actually rather grateful to you: you opened my eyes to what a monster Night Bat is. Him and Lynchpin, they would destroy the world if you gave them half a chance – intentionally or otherwise. They do need to be stopped, and I wish you and your pals all the luck in the world doing it.”

She gave him a dubious look. “Isn’t that what _you_ ’ve been trying to do this whole time?”

“What, you think I could stop them?” He scoffed. “Maybe I’ve hurt them lately, but I’m not the one to stop them. I’d rather get the hell out of Paris and leave you to it.”

“So what’s stopping you?”

“Not so stupid: I know what would happen if I just try to skip town,” he replied, frowning darkly. “They would come after me with everything they’ve got, and they wouldn’t stop until I was dead and everyone I love was dead and maybe even everyone I don’t actually _hate_ was dead. Lynchpin has people everywhere, and he doesn’t forgive easily…” He shook his head. “I like you, Foxy. You’re a good person. But your problem is that you don’t understand how the world works. There are monsters out there, and sometimes if you’re going to _stop_ the monster, you need to _become_ a monster yourself. Keep that in mind the next time you find yourself up against Night Bat.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Rena Rouge retorted. “So why _don’t_ you work with us? We can help each other: with your information, we might actually be able to flush him out and unmask him.”

“‘Unmask,’ not kill?” he scoffed. “No, thanks. When you find a rabid animal, you don’t put it in a cage and keep it as a pet. Rabid animals just need to be put down.”

“That’s where we’ll have to disagree,” she replied, taking a step toward him. “If you won’t stop killing people – regardless of how much they might deserve it – I’m going to have to stop you myself.”

Le Tirreur’s eyes widened and he took a hesitant step backward and to the left. Rena Rouge shadowed him. He sidestepped once more and glanced to the side toward the corner of the warehouse closest to the river. Rena Rouge took one more step in that direction. He met her eyes and smirked before reaching into his pocket. She furrowed her brows in confusion. She heard a puff of air from somewhere behind her, and her eyes widened in realization.

Rena Rouge was frozen in place, eyes still wide in shock, staring at Le Tirreur.

“The Marine motto _is_ ‘Be Prepared,’ you know,” he commented with a laugh. He cocked his head. “Or is that the Scouts? I always get those two confused. Ah, well.” He walked over to her and put a hand on Rena Rouge’s shoulder, smirking. “It’s a pity all our meetings have to end this way, Foxy,” he told her, patting her shoulder condescendingly. “It’s not that I don’t like you – really. I just can’t have you messing with my plans.”

She let out a low growl, the most she could muster while immobilized by chi-putty, and glared up at him. Mentally, she quickly ran through the non-miraculous heroes on their team. How long would it take for Pegasus to get the Heretic and send him through a portal to help her out? What could she do in this position to stall Le Tirreur long enough for help to arrive? Would he try to steal her miraculous?

As though he had read her thoughts in her eyes, Le Tirreur snorted. “Don’t worry, Foxy,” he assured her. “I’m not going to unmask you or take your miraculous or anything like that – not much point in making an enemy of _your_ gang on top of Night Bat. However, I _am_ curious just how long it will take them to come and pick you up.” He pulled a small electronic device from his pocket and pressed a button. Leaning in close to the ear with her communicator he whispered, “The warehouse is all set to blow in a minute, by the way, so the clock is ticking…”

The pounding of heavy footsteps from the far side of the loading yard was the only warning either of them received before a greenish blur appeared from nowhere and barreled into Le Tirreur, knocking him sprawling to the ground. Rena Rouge’s first instinct was to think that Pegasus had gotten Nino back to protect her, but that idea fell apart immediately – this person’s body was a darker shade of green than Carapace’s suit, almost to the point of turning to brown. Over a head taller than Rena Rouge, it was thin and powerful with a tiny tail poking out through a hole in its ill-fitting pants.

Whoever or whatever it was, it stood between Rena Rouge and Le Tirreur, who was just pushing himself to his feet. He drew a telescoping baton from a holster on his belt, flicked it out to full length, and charged the newcomer, ducking under the newcomer’s first punch and smacking him in the side with his baton. The newcomer grabbed the baton out of his hand and snapped it in half with his bare hands. Le Tirreur took one look into the newcomer’s face, his jaw dropping in terror, and turned to flee. The newcomer watched him until he had disappeared down an alley between two nearby warehouses. Then the creature turned around to look at Rena Rouge, giving her the first clear look at its features.

In addition to standing over a head taller than her, the creature had the pointed, angular face of a raptor. When he smiled at her, he revealed row upon row of sharp, pointed teeth. He reached behind her to remove the chi-putty from her shoulder blade, giving Rena Rouge a clear view of his four taloned fingers, complete with a single opposable digit. He removed the chi-putty and stepped back, bracing himself as the warehouse behind him exploded into a fountain of flames.

“I guess I should thank you for helping me out,” Rena Rouge observed once she had pulled herself up from the ground, stretching her shoulder muscles to relieve the tension.

The creature looked at her and nodded. Then, to her astonishment, he spoke. “I need your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will also be a “Patrol Log” today, though “Patrol Logs” aren’t directly connected to the stories going on around them.


	4. Chapter 4

Pegasus stared in awe at the creature who accompanied Rena Rouge through the portal just outside his lab at Headquarters. Almost three meters tall, with scaly skin in a mottled green. His face was slightly angular and elongated, with nostril holes sitting above a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. His arms and legs were proportional to the size of his body, with four digits on each appendage, all ending with long talons that clacked on the cave floor as he walked upright on his two legs. “Hello,” he began hesitantly, staring up at the alien suspiciously.

“Greetings,” the alien replied smoothly. “I apologize if my sudden appearance frightened you. I have been without personal contact for so long…”

“Not at all,” Pegasus assured him quickly. “I had simply been observing your motor functions. My only experience with your species before now was exclusively theoretical, from when we found two of your kind deceased last year. Under the circumstances… it was impossible for me to determine anything for certain regarding your kinesiology. That you would walk on your hind legs was evident, but not what it would look like.” He coughed awkwardly. “Um… I did study the two we found…”

The alien’s mouth constricted and he nodded. “Yes, it is unfortunate that so many of my companions were killed when our vessel crashed. Despite my best efforts I have not found another survivor of our accident – at least of my own race.” He looked over to the left and started, his eyelids contracting. “I see you discovered two of our escape pods.”

Pegasus nodded to himself. Evidently that hypothesis had been correct: these pods must have been launched from the larger vessel that broke up in the upper atmosphere.

“You speak French extremely well,” observed Rena Rouge, examining the alien carefully. “How is that?”

The alien moved one shoulder and waved his other hand. “I am what on your world you might call a ‘xeno-anthropologist,’” he explained. “I study alien species to learn how they operate and how they are structured. That has given me great experience in learning different alien languages. I have spent over a year on your planet trying to figure out how to get home, and in part that required learning to speak your language.”

“What does our language have to do with anything?” asked Rena Rouge, cocking her head.

“As I said before, I need your help,” he answered, turning to Pegasus. “I need to contact my people to go home, and I think you can assist me with that.”

“You’ll have to explain all of this a whole lot better,” Rena Rouge told him firmly. “Who are you, what are you doing here, and why should we help you?”

The alien opened his mouth and let out a stream of air, wheezing in what Pegasus could only assume was laughter. “Those are quite the questions,” the alien observed, fixing an eye on Rena Rouge.

“Start with a name,” Pegasus advised, watching his face closely.

“My name is Hungoliunqtih,” he replied, opening one eye a little wider and blinking.

Rena Rouge’s mouth moved around as she tried to form the word. “Yeah, that’s not happening,” she finally admitted with a chuckle. “Sorry. Can I call you ‘Hugo’?”

“Hugo” dipped his head in acknowledgement. “As I said, I am a researcher, part of a scientific team studying habitable planets for signs of life as well as searching for uninhabited planets with resources we require. Your planet was one of several whose radio transmissions our long-range scanners had identified. Our vessel had been in orbit around your moon to observe you and determine our next course of action, when it became trapped in a gravitational eddy and pulled off-course. Our captain attempted to correct for the gravitational shift but overcompensated and got us trapped in the gravitational field between the moon and the planet. The ship experienced an engine failure and was pulled into close-Earth orbit. The orbit decayed rapidly, and the captain ordered us to abandon the ship, just before it broke up.”

As the story continued, Pegasus furrowed his brows in contemplation. He could see Rena Rouge emulating the expression, though only for a moment before she schooled her expression and nodded. “How did we not know about this?” Pegasus wondered, eyes wide. His eyes trailed over to the lab door where Turing hovered, to see that the robot was recording the conversation.

Hugo moved his arms in a simulation of a shrug. “As the ship was breaking apart, I did see a small constellation of nearby artificial satellites,” he answered. “But our technology is beyond yours and our vessels carry electronic interference generators. Your satellites may have been fooled.”

“How long did you say you’ve been here?” Rena Rouge asked, raising an eyebrow at their guest.

“The ship crashed approximately 14 of your months ago. I spent the first several months hiding in the woods before coming to the city.”

Pegasus shared a look with Rena Rouge. “We have been investigating a series of unusual disappearances recently,” he informed the alien. “They appear to have begun at some point after your ship’s accident.”

“It can’t be…” the alien whispered, eyes widening in horror.

Rena Rouge’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“We were carrying a prisoner,” he explained, setting his jaw angrily. “We had received a distress call from one of our colonies en route to your planet, and when we arrived this monster was the only survivor. I do not know what he had done or why he did it, but he murdered the entire colony. From the distress call, it started with a small number of disappearances… until it grew. If the disappearances have begun here… the prisoner must have survived the crash.”

“If this prisoner survived, do you know of any other survivors?” Rena Rouge asked.

“I have had no contact with any other survivors since I crash-landed,” he replied. “I did observe two escape pods to have collided and burned up on entry, however. There may have been another one that landed intact nearby.”

“We have only discovered the two pods you see here,” Pegasus informed him. “Although there have been indications that other pods may have landed in other parts of the world.”

“I had hoped I was not alone, that my crewmates might have survived, rather than that monster,” Hugo confessed. “But I had begun to despair of ever seeing my home planet or my own people again. And now it appears that the _monster_ survived when so many good people perished!”

“So what have you been doing for the last year?” asked Rena Rouge, cocking her head and narrowing her eyes. “Where have you been living? What have you been eating?”

Hugo wheezed in laughter. “I have been doing my job!” he answered. “I have been observing and studying. Your people seem unaware of the existence of life on other planets, and it seemed prudent to not be the one to make what you would call ‘first contact’ under the circumstances. Consequently, I found a home in your sewers and have been staying hidden underground as much as possible to avoid notice. My people are omnivorous, so I have not had trouble finding food. It was a great stroke of luck that your atmosphere is so high in nitrogen content, as we prefer a nitrogen-oxygen mix.”

Pegasus nodded. “I had wondered about that. Your physiology is quite similar to our own, but not entirely.”

Rena Rouge hummed and pursed her lips. “Why now?” she asked. “Why wait so long to approach us? If you’ve been studying us for so long, if you had this murderer on your ship who could have been on the loose this whole time, why not ask for our help sooner?”

Hugo bobbed his head and sighed. “It was only recently that I realized you may be able to assist me,” he explained, turning to fix an eye on Pegasus.

“Do you want me to send you home with a portal?” Pegasus asked, startled. “While I have opened portals to space in the past, I am unsure of what complications such a portal would present. And I would absolutely need to know exactly where your planet is on a cosmic level to even attempt such a feat.”

Hugo shook his head. “That is not what I had in mind,” he told them. “There will be a resupply ship passing through your asteroid belt in two days. It was supposed to rendezvous with our research ship near Mars provided that we had not moved on to the next planet on our itinerary. If it does not detect the ship, it will move on, and I do not know when the next resupply ship will pass – or if there will even _be_ another one. But there will be a window – small, but a window – in which we could send a transmission to that ship to ask it to come and pick me up. It would then be able to scan the planet from orbit and locate any more of my crewmate who survived. And if our _prisoner_ survived… it is all the more imperative that we contact them.”

Pegasus stared at him wide-eyed. “And you believe that I can build a device to send your message to the asteroid belt?”

“With my assistance, I think it is possible,” Hugo agreed, bobbing his head. “I propose a trade of information. I know from my observation that your species is interested in space exploration; I can help you in that realm. Provided that you agree to help me contact my people and return home, my people will recapture the prisoner and see that he faces justice. In exchange, I will assist you with my knowledge of other extraterrestrial species in this region of the galaxy, as well as what I know of space travel technology. With my help, you may be able to mount manned expeditions beyond your moon on a much faster timeframe.”

Pegasus put his hand on his chin in thought, giving Rena Rouge a glance out of the corner of his eye. Her lips were set in a thin line, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. A part of him wanted to agree with her on that – everything about this felt a little too clean and simple. At the same time, however, this did answer a number of the burning questions that had been on his mind for months. The field of alien debris in orbit, the small alien vessels only capable of short flights in atmosphere, the alien bodies, and even the open missing persons cases which had not left any forensic evidence behind… all of them could be explained by Hugo’s story. But what if they were not the only unanswered questions for which Hugo could account? “You may not remember,” Pegasus began slowly, “but there was an incident in the spring when an unknown figure rescued Rena Rouge from being attacked. Was that you?”

Hugo started and looked around the room quickly before his gaze settled back on Pegasus. “Yes,” he answered carefully. “I saw Rena Rouge, and I had to prevent those people from harming her.”

Pegasus looked over at Rena Rouge, who was giving him a concerned look. Slowly, however, she shrugged. “How will this work?” Pegasus asked, turning back to the alien.

Hugo took in the cave around them and nodded. “I believe you have almost all of the parts we need already,” he announced. “But it is late and your species is diurnal. We may begin in the morning if that is more comfortable for you.”

“Very well,” Pegasus agreed. “But what about you?”

“It is peaceful in here,” answered Hugo. “I will rest here for the night.”


	5. Chapter 5

Étienne raced away from the warehouse blindly, the long rifle jostling against his back as the strap threatened to slide off his arm, hardly noticing the streets he turned down. In his haste he hadn’t retrieved any of his gear. None of it was traceable, but his night-vision goggles had been expensive and high-end – not much chance of replacing them any time soon. And the putty launcher… he’d prefer if Lynchpin didn’t get his hands on it, but if the police recovered it… A late-night driver honked and slammed on his brakes when Étienne ran out in front of his car, but Étienne didn’t slow down. The only plan he could come up with was to put as much distance between himself and whatever had just happened as he possibly could. Off in the distance he could hear police sirens responding to the warehouse explosion, adding greater motivation to get as far away as possible.

What on earth had just happened? Something had appeared to save Rena Rouge from him – not that he was really planning to hurt her – and whatever it was had definitely not been human, and it had not looked like any of the miraculous users with whom he was familiar.

But what _could_ it have been?

Étienne stopped in the middle of a darkened alley and bent over, placing his hands on his knees and sucking in gulping breaths. If the sirens in the distance were any indicator, he had easily covered five kilometers since leaving the warehouse. With the direction he had been running, he had crossed the boundary into the next arrondissement three blocks ago, and that meant a different police station. The police here probably weren’t actively searching for a bomber, giving him at least some measure of safety.

Of course, if any officer did stop him, carrying around a high-powered energy rifle as he was, that wouldn’t matter. He needed to get under cover, and time was of the essence if he was going to avoid arrest. Adjusting the rifle strap over his shoulder, he set off down the alleyway, eyes and ears alert for signs of anyone nearby. With as late as it was, very few people were out, leaving him alone on the streets. After glancing surreptitiously around the corner, he stepped out onto the main street he needed to cross to get home.

It was just his luck that a police car chose that moment to turn onto his street.

The flashing lights came on, and the police car stopped less than a meter from Étienne’s legs. The driver’s door flew open, and the officer stepped out, sheltering behind his door and aiming his gun at Étienne’s chest. “Sir, keep your hands where I can see them!” the officer ordered, his pistol trembling slightly. “Do not touch that weapon or I will fire!”

 _Damn._ Of all the streets he could have turned down, it had to be this one. And if Lynchpin had someone in this station, Étienne would be dead before the morning. He couldn’t let that happen. Étienne carefully raised his hands and clasped them above his head. Slowly he placed his hands on the top of his head and worked them behind his head, staring calmly at the officer with a placid expression on his face as he did so.

The officer’s voice broke. “Keep your hands where I can see them!”

Étienne’s face betrayed nothing, but internally he was seething. This officer probably wasn’t with Lynchpin; he was probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He looked only a couple years out of the academy, not much different from the dozens of new recruits Étienne had known in the military. But that still didn’t change the equation. The tips of Étienne’s fingers brushed against the handle of the knife he kept sheathed just beneath the collar of his shirt. He had practiced the move so many times it had become completely ingrained. The moment the officer’s gun wavered away from him, he would whip the knife out and over his shoulder, releasing it to embed in the officer’s eye socket, the only part of his face clearly visible. If he could do it in under two seconds, the officer wouldn’t have a chance to react before he died; any gunshots he did get off would be nothing but involuntary death spasms sailing into the atmosphere as he fell to the ground dead.

The knife loosened in its sheath.

Before he could whip it out, a sheer fabric curtain appeared in midair just above him, between him and the officer. The officer’s gun slid downward, and Étienne found himself staring in confusion as the curtain descended between them, hiding the officer from his view. But he couldn’t think about it for too long. Étienne dropped his hands to his sides and raced back into the alley he had just emerged from, running past a man with red-and-brown hair loping out of the alley in the opposite direction. Partway down the alley, Étienne jumped and grabbed onto the lowest rung of the apartment building’s fire escape, pulling himself up hand-over-hand onto the lowest landing. He climbed the fire escape to the roof as quickly as he possibly could, the ladder clanging against the brick wall around him, only looking back as he was rolling onto the roof. The sheer fabric that had separated him from the police officer had disappeared, leaving the police officer standing next to his car, spinning around in confusion. Étienne pulled back from the edge just as the officer looked up and caught sight of him.

“Hey! Get back here!” Bullets impacted into the edge of the roof, sending up a spray of chipped bricks.

“Damn trigger-happy cops,” Étienne grumbled. He sprang to his feet and raced across the roof. Without slowing down he threw himself over the gap between that apartment building and the one next to it. He stumbled on landing but regained his balance in two steps, leaning forward to gain momentum in his pell-mell dash across that roof. On reaching the third building on that block he came to a wider street and a gap that he couldn’t leap across. He veered sharply to the left and jumped off the building’s roof on the back side, shooting a mini grappling hook from his bracer that embedded in the roof’s edge as he jumped. The line extended rapidly and he rode it to the ground, only slowing his descent as he passed the second floor. He landed on his feet, flicked his wrist to disengage the line from the grappling hook, and looked in both directions before stepping out of the back alley. Quickly he crossed the street and slipped into another dark alley.

After snaking his way through a few dozen alleys and crossing several major streets spread through four different arrondissements without seeing another police officer, Étienne finally allowed himself to breathe normally. His escape had taken him on a circuitous route but finally ended at the foreclosed fourplex where he had been staying since before the summer began. The previous owner had apparently run out of money to pay the mortgage and been unable to find enough renters to make his budget. When he’d left, he had abandoned the house fully-furnished but with the water and electricity turned off. The bank still hadn’t found a buyer, and with the economy the way it was, not many people were looking for this kind of house. A few bills given to the right woman at the bank, and the house’s paperwork had disappeared temporarily, leaving Étienne free to use it for as long as he needed. A little fancy wiring, and the water and electricity were back on – just enough to live without attracting too much attention.

Not exactly what he’d had in mind for his retirement when the military threw him out, but not bad all the same.

Étienne looked both directions before approaching the house, checked for the strand of hair he’d left in the doorjamb on leaving, and finally let himself inside.

Once inside, he dropped his new rifle on the kitchen table next to a stack of takeout boxes, along with the alien energy weapon and one of the two new pistols he had grabbed. The rest of his weapons followed, and he finally collapsed onto the couch and allowed himself to breathe normally.

He was just about to help himself to a few slices of cold pizza from the night before when someone knocked on the door.

His new energy pistol in hand, Étienne carefully looked out the window to see the same man he had noticed in the alley, now standing on his front stoop. The man looked straight at the window and raised an eyebrow at him. With a sigh Étienne opened the door. “I suppose I should be thanking you for the distraction?” he asked, holding the pistol out of sight behind the door but pointed straight at the man’s head.

“I suppose you should,” the man agreed, nodding. Something about his movement felt mechanical to Étienne. “Do you have anything to eat?”

Étienne checked behind himself. “Not really,” he replied. “I, um, I have pizza, if you’re in to that kind of thing.”

The man wrinkled up his nose. “No, thank you. I actually prefer meats over cheese.”

Étienne shrugged. “There’s some old fried chicken in the fridge, I think.”

“That will do.” The man pushed past Étienne and into the apartment. He went directly to the refrigerator and dug around until he brought out a half-eaten whole fried chicken.

Étienne watched in silence for several minutes, his pistol held loosely and pointed at the floor, as the man shoved pieces of chicken into his mouth, bones and all. The bones crunched as he bit through them. “Well?” Étienne demanded. “So what the hell is going on? What the hell did you do? Why did you save me? And what was that thing that attacked me!?!”

The man let out a snort of laughter. “That… _thing_ … was a Shunjar,” the man told him.

Étienne scoffed. “And what the hell’s a ‘Shunjar’?”

“An alien,” the man explained, picking at his finely pointed teeth with the sharp end of a chicken bone. “Part of a race that’s looking to expand their empire across the galaxy.”

“An alien,” Étienne repeated. “From outer space.” He shook his head dubiously. “Well, I guess I already knew he wasn’t an alien from _Libya_ or something. Don’t get me wrong: I’ve seen some crazy things in the last couple years, even played around with alien tech. But this takes the cake. Are you telling me you really want me to believe there are aliens – extra-terrestrial-type aliens – actually living in Paris right now?”

The man fixed him with an amused stare before the air in front of his body shimmered and dissolved. In the man’s place stood a creature a few centimeters shorter than the previous human form which had reddish fur covering its entire body. Its face was pointed and angular with a snout-like nose and close-set eyes. The ears on top of its head were larger and pointed. The two hands it held in front of itself ended with short fingers and small claws. It wore ill-fitting human clothing that hung off its lean body. “In a word, yes.”


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, Max was up and out of his room at the Mansion by sunrise. He stopped in the kitchen to grab a couple breakfast pastries for himself, tossed an apple in the air for Kaalki to catch, and took the elevator down to Headquarters. On arriving in the butterfly garden he made his way to the lab, where he could already hear Hugo and Turing at work. He stepped through the lab door to find Turing’s holographic projector already activated, showing an exploded view of a box with anodes and dials as well as something looking like a massive antenna. The components and materials were labeled in both French and a script that Max did not recognize.

“You slept well, I hope?” Max asked, offering Hugo a pastry.

Hugo accepted the croissant. “I prefer meat to other foods, but this will suffice for now. And I slept fine down here – better than the sewer I have been calling home for so long on your planet! In a way, the stone walls remind me of home.”

Max nodded and took a bite of his own pastry, examining the diagram as he ate. Looking more closely he recognized a few of the components as being reminiscent of a transistor radio. “Did you design this entirely from scratch this morning?”

Hugo dipped his head in affirmation. “It is a simple enough concept,” he explained. “We will use a laser to identify the ship’s location and speed based on the reflected beam.” He pointed to a pair of devices on top of the transmitter connected to what appeared to be a phone. “These will track in on the ship and enable us to transmit the message. With a large enough antenna we will be able to speak to the ship almost in real-time, even at a great distance.”

Max furrowed his brow and looked more closely at the diagram. It did not appear to be using sound or radio waves. From what he could tell, it did not even use light waves beyond the tracking and targeting. Even then, the laser lights appeared unlike any laser generator Max had seen before, surrounded as the laser generators were by tubes carrying superheated plasma. The transmitter was beyond terrestrial technology… but, then, it was intended to contact an extraterrestrial spaceship. “What materials do we require?” he finally asked.

Hugo pointed a talon at the shelf full of alien artifacts the Heroes had collected, both from Lynchpin’s smuggling operation and from Max’s own forays into the debris field. “I see the necessary capacitors and a circuit board we might repurpose for the control panel,” he replied. “If I may…” Max nodded, and Hugo pushed pieces aside, discarding most but setting aside a growing pile of objects. “Yes… we will be able to construct a functional transmitter from this. Unfortunately, there are still a small number of parts missing. Your planet does not have any conductive material capable of carrying the energy necessary to superheat the guide laser, so we will need to fashion our own. If you can gather enough of the correct material, we can forge the wire here.”

“Where will we find the material?”

“Our ship’s internal wiring used it in significant quantities.”

Max nodded. “I do not think that will be a problem,” he agreed. “And the other parts?”

“The focusing mirror for the laser can be found in the targeting system of the intact escape pod in your main cave,” answered Hugo. “We can cannibalize the power source from the pod’s propulsion system. And the pod’s own communications system can provide the handheld device for sending audio messages.”

Max frowned. “None of these parts will work?” he asked, gesturing to the pile on the floor. “We recovered a targeting system almost entirely intact last month. Can we not use the mirror from that?”

Hugo shook his head and held up one of the objects he had discarded. “This one is scratched and would allow the focusing laser to dissipate too quickly.” He turned his head slightly to focus one of his eyes on Max before wheezing out a breath in his approximation of a laugh. “Are you worried about your ability to reuse that escape pod?” He put a hand on Max’s shoulder. “These escape pods can do very little –your own terrestrial technology is already capable of the same degree of speed and maneuverability. Although that is saying very little.”

“I had hoped to use the pod’s systems to upgrade human technology for improved performance,” admitted Max.

“Max has been improving a European Space Agency design!” explained Turing enthusiastically.

“Really?” Hugo’s eyes widened. “May I?” Max nodded, and Turing switched displays. Hugo spun the schematic around a couple times and pulled out a few components to examine more closely. “This is an impressive fusion of your technology and our own,” he finally acknowledged, bobbing his head. “The propulsion system does not resemble either that of the pod _or_ human technology so much as a hybrid of the two.”

“Without having access to the fuel used by your pod, this is the best I could do,” Max explained.

Hugo made a guttural noise. “With your permission, I may be able to improve your design.”

Max shrugged. “Any feedback would be greatly appreciated,” he agreed. “We have so little access to resources to help in this process.” He gave Markov a look, and he displayed a 3D map of the globe showing the location of the debris field. “If I am to collect enough of your superconductive material, I must begin.” He grabbed a vial of purple liquid off a shelf built into the wall next to the lab door and placed a drop of the liquid onto an apple slice. Selecting a pair of devices from the cabinet he grabbed a sack from the floor, exited the lab, and handed the apple slice to Kaalki.

“For as much as I enjoy weightlessness,” Kaalki observed, swallowing the apple slice whole and shuddering, “the space power-up is probably the worst-tasting one.”

“We could have waited for Sabrina,” replied Max, “but we do not have much time to waste.” Kaalki made a face but nodded. “Astro-Kaalki, Full gallop.”

Two minutes later, Pegasus, his suit upgraded with an airtight helmet over his face and the horseshoe strapped to his back fitted out with propulsion jets on the two ends, opened a portal into the center of the debris field and jumped through, leaving it open behind him. He opened the collection jar he had brought, and small particles began rushing inside of it, drawn to the electromagnetic field. It had taken nearly a month for him to figure out the correct electromagnetic frequency to attract this specific superconductor material; although he had collected samples for testing, he had never been in a position to forge them or had enough to make the resulting filament usable if he could create it. He flexed the fingers of his other hand, activating his glove. Larger pieces of debris slowly moved toward him until they were close enough for him to grab them and place them into the bag.

After three minutes the collection jar beeped to signal that it was at capacity, and he shut it to turn it off. With a thought he activated his horseshoe-jet and propelled himself back through the portal. Landing on the grass in the butterfly garden, he closed the portal behind him. “Astro-Kaalki, Dismount.” His horseshoe returned to normal and the mask covering his face disappeared. Pegasus sighed and stretched his neck as he returned to the lab, removing a couple pieces from the bag full of new debris and setting them on the table. He dropped the bag itself to the floor and pushed it under the lab table to sort through it later. Satisfied, he placed the jar on the counter next to the holographic schematic of his space-plane. On catching sight of the new propulsion system and shielding Hugo had added, he started in surprise. “What is this?”

Hugo took the jar and tapped fifteen grams of powder into a crucible which he picked up in a pair of heavy-duty insulated tongs. He selected an alien energy pistol from the far counter, adjusted a setting, and pointed it at the bottom of the crucible. The powder quickly turned to liquid, and he poured it into a long thin ceramic mold. With that accomplished, he explained, “I modified your design with a variation of the propulsion systems for our excursion craft. It is not as powerful as the engine on the ship that was destroyed, but it is better than that on the pod. It wouldn’t be sufficient for a trip to, say, Saturn, but more than capable of a trip to Mars or your asteroid field – perhaps even beyond.”

Pegasus’ eyes shot open in surprise as he examined the schematic more closely. If the propulsion system necessary to travel to Mars could be adapted for such a relatively-small ship…

“I have analyzed the fuel formulation,” Markov chirped, “and it will produce sufficient energy to maneuver the plane. The primary nuclear reactor design is safe to within 1%.” He activated his own display to show the space-plane design running through a simulated flight.

“This will save us years of development and experimentation! Thank you,” Max finally told Hugo.

The alien dipped his head. “If you can assist me in returning home, this is the least I can do.”

Pegasus furrowed his brows. “I thought you said you were a xeno-anthropologist,” he began. “How are you so well-versed in engineering and astrophysics as to design this system?”

Hugo shrugged one shoulder. “Is that unusual on your planet?” he wondered. “This is covered in our basic sciences and mathematics in school.”

While they waited for the superconductor material to cool, Hugo looked more closely at the new materials Pegasus had collected. He picked one up and fingered it thoughtfully. “May I ask what your intention is with this?”

“It appears to be some sort of anti-collision laser,” Pegasus explained. He gestured toward the carrying case in the corner. “I had considered incorporating a similar system into my drones but did not have a base model for adapting the energy weapon technology to suit the size and use.”

“Weaponized drones?” Hugo’s eyes widened.

“I have been improving my drone design for months, but this is the first time I will be incorporating offensive weapons into it,” he answered, pulling one of the drones out of its padded compartment. “I have been working on the drones’ programming recently in preparation, writing in an override to permit them to potentially harm living beings within very specific parameters.”

“That would be a very useful tool.” Hugo turned his lip down and held the device up to his eye. “I may be able to help you with it,” he finally offered.

As Hugo began collecting the other parts necessary for the transmitter and assembling them. Pegasus removed one of the drones from its carrying case, flipped it upside down, and removed the bottom panel. His phone buzzed. “I shall return shortly,” he announced. “It is close to lunchtime. Shall I bring something down for you?”

Hugo nodded without looking up from his work. “Thank you.”

Pegasus de-transformed and took the elevator up to the office, where he stepped off the elevator plate to find Sabrina waiting for him. She gave him a quick kiss before fixing him with a confused expression. “What is wrong?” he asked.

“What is your visitor?” she asked, frowning. “I have not sensed anything like him before.”

Max cocked his head. “What do you mean? What _do_ you sense from him?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing,” she confirmed, pursing her lips. “I get little impressions here and there from him, but nothing definite. And whatever I _do_ pick up from him is so jumbled and confused… I can’t tell why that is or what he is feeling. Maybe it’s because he’s so much different from us. Maybe I just don’t have the same intuitive understanding of his emotions that I do of, say, yours. If Mme Agreste hadn’t gone to Australia with Marinette and Adrien, she might be able to pick up more from him – the Peacock is more sensitive to nuances.”

Max frowned in concern. “Unfortunately, their conference is set to last another three days, and Hugo says this supply ship we must contact will be out of range tomorrow.”

She nodded, still looking troubled. “I’ll keep trying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Max’s spaceship design is based on the Hermes space-plane, a real ESA project that was scrapped decades ago. In-universe, ESA gave him the old design to play with as compensation for saving one of their missions and returning the Soyuz capsule in question to the RSA (In “Life and Times” vol. 1, chapter 2).
> 
> The “override” Max wrote into the programming is to override Asimov’s Laws of Robotics (essentially stating that robots cannot harm a living being). He didn’t write the Laws into his robots originally, but after Markov’s Akumatization he added them in.


	7. Chapter 7

Étienne stared at the creature in front of him in shock. The alien peeled the meat off another chicken bone with his finely pointed teeth and stared back at him, raising his eyebrows in an expression that resembled nothing so much as a dog inspecting a particularly interesting bone. Étienne’s mind was blank. He had never been much of a science fiction fan; before Lynchpin had started acquiring alien technology, he had never even considered the possibility of alien life. He had seen the news reports when France joined the European Space Agency and scoffed: that funding could have been better used equipping their military, not playing with satellites! And even after Lynchpin acquired his first alien weapon from a site in Africa, when Étienne had gotten the opportunity to begin experimenting with the alien weapon and seen the first prototypes produced by Lynchpin’s engineer, after observing what these weapons could do, the possibility of live aliens on Earth had still remained remote. He had never in all his wildest imaginings thought he would actually see one, let alone that he would be watching one eat his leftover chicken! “So what am I supposed to call you?” he finally managed.

The alien twisted his mouth up in an approximation of a grin. “‘Victor’ works for now,” he replied. “I don’t think your language includes at least four of the vowels mine does, and they’re _all_ in my actual name, so let’s go with ‘Victor.’”

“Fine… ‘ _Victor_.’” Étienne narrowed his eyes at the alien. “So do you expect me to believe that you’ve just been hanging out on Earth for the last – I’m sorry, how long did you say you’ve been here?”

Victor snorted. “I didn’t, but good try.” He sighed. “My planet has been at war with the Shunjar for a _long_ time now, and they sent me to infiltrate one of their ships – a scout ship. My mission was to find out where the ship was going and why, and report back to our military when I knew more. I was discovered and arrested just before the ship ran into trouble.”

“You’re a spy,” Étienne deadpanned. _Great._ “And not just a spy, a _bad_ spy.” _Better._

Victor shrugged. “And you’re a sniper who just massacred twenty people in five minutes but got scared off by an overgrown lizard. We all make mistakes.”

Étienne glowered at him. “So I’m guessing you don’t exactly blend in with these Shunner things,” he observed. “How’d you do the whole…” He waved his hand in front of his head “… face thing?”

“Some of my race can warp light,” Victor explained. His nose appeared to elongate and thicken; he passed his hand straight through the space where his “nose” was, and the image remained intact. “I can adjust the way that people see me, or even make the light pass by me altogether so people can’t see me.” He held out one hand in front of himself, and it disappeared.

“And that curtain thing before? That was you, too?”

Victor nodded. “Those kinds of images are a little more complicated and can’t last as long – the further away and more complex the image, the more difficult it is to produce. But that’s how I infiltrated the Shunjar ship, and that’s how I’ve been blending in on your planet for the last year and a half.”

Étienne raised an eyebrow dubiously. “And you’ve… what? Just been banging on random people’s doors and eating their leftovers?”

“On occasion. Other times I have had to resort to… scavenging.” Victor made a face.

“And where have you been living?”

Victor flared his snout. “Here and there. Sometimes sleeping in alleys, sometimes in the sewers, sometimes homeless shelters. I’ve kept moving.”

“Why reveal yourself now?” demanded Étienne, folding his arms and frowning. “Why me? It can’t be because you need a partner for backgammon.”

“What’s ‘backgammon?” Victor wondered, giving Étienne a funny look. “I’m here because I’ve been watching events in the city for some time, and I know what you can do. I’m here because I didn’t have any other choice.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it! You are my last hope!”

“Yeah, sorry,” Étienne scoffed. “I don’t do these kinds of ‘last hope’ things.”

“Well, now would be a very good time to start,” Victor retorted heatedly, his eyes narrowing to thin slits. “If we don’t act, the Shunjar will find a way to draw your planet into our war!” The alien slammed his fist on the table. “On his own he is dangerous enough; if he has help… who knows _what_ he could do!?!”

“And you think the Heroes of Paris are going to help him?”

Victor scoffed. “They’re heroes; I’ve watched them long enough… you and I both know that helping people is what they do. But if they help this one, and he somehow contacts his Navy, they could come _here_. And that would draw your planet into the war – maybe even worse!”

Étienne studied the alien closely. Over a decade of military service, most of it watching people through a scope, and he had learned to read faces pretty well – or at least human faces. Give him a terrorist general and Étienne could tell you whether he was thinking about breakfast, the next mission, or his newest wife with a reasonable degree of certainty. But an alien? And an alien _spy_ at that? Victor’s face gave away nothing Étienne could understand. “So why come to me instead of the Heroes of Paris?” he finally asked. “They live for this kind of thing.”

“I would have approached them before now, but I was unsure of how.” Victor’s ears lay flat on his head. “Now that the Shunjar has approached them first, why should they listen to me instead of him? So now if _you_ don’t help me the Shunjar will get exactly what he wants!”

“Me.”

“You can help me stop the Shunjar from carrying out whatever his plan is.”

Étienne raised an eyebrow at him. “And do you have any idea what his plan _is_?”

“In the grand scheme of things, for as dangerous an adversary as he is, there isn’t much he can do on his own to manipulate your planet into the war,” replied Victor, dropping into a chair at the table near the energy weapons. Étienne’s grip on his pistol tightened slightly. The alien rested his hand on the table near the alien pistol but made no move to touch it. “He will need to either contact his people or else find other members of his crew who survived the crash. Either of those will require communication. And in either case his transmitter will need power and an antenna.”

Étienne’s jaw dropped open and he stared at the alien in disbelief. “You want us to run around town looking for your enemy alien’s payphone on the off-chance that he tries to phone a friend?”

“Pretty much, yes.”

Étienne groaned and ran a hand through his hair before grabbing a fistful. After everything he had experienced in the last few years, he should have been used to unusual. With miraculous and Akumas and Dark Acolytes now a normal part of the Paris landscape, why should an alien asking him to help keep the Earth out of a galactic war be so surprising?

And yet there was something vaguely unsettling about this whole incident. Maybe it was the fact that an alien had followed him to his _home_. Maybe it was that he was seriously contemplating a situation in which he had to stop the _Heroes of Paris_. Maybe it was the threat of an impending alien invasion with him as supposedly the only person capable of preventing it.

Maybe it was just the fact that he was considering teaming up with a damn _spy_.

Étienne had spent most of his military career in Africa. He had encountered his fair share of spies – both those working for France and those working for other countries. The French agents had been bad enough, but at least their loyalties were supposedly secure and clear and lined up with his own, though there was that French spy stationed in Algiers who had sold his team out to a terrorist cell for a prostitute… But whenever he’d had to work with a spy from a different country – whether a supposed ally or not – he’d always gotten this unshakable feeling that he was about to be turned into a pawn in someone else’s sick and twisted game. And every time he felt to make sure his wallet was still there once the spy had left. Even if they were allies at the moment, that didn’t have to mean anything long-term: today’s allies could turn around and become tomorrow’s enemies at the drop of a hat, and you would never know it until it was too late. And no one was better at playing that stupid game than the damn spies.

Whatever he might say to the contrary, Victor had an agenda here, and Étienne would be damned if he went along with some unknown agenda just because. For all his protestations to the contrary, Victor could easily be seeking to use this as an impetus to draw the Earth in to this galactic war on his own side.

But at the same time… if “ _Victor_ ” was correct, the Heroes themselves could inadvertently start an intergalactic war without meaning to do it.

As much as he hated to admit it, he would need to set his differences aside and work with this alien to stop the other alien. They could sort the rest of it out after the world had been saved.

Without taking his eyes off the alien, Étienne reached into the fridge and felt around to find a bottle of wine. He pulled out the cork, swirled it around, frowned on seeing the layer of sediment at the bottom, and took a swig directly from the bottle. “Dammit all to hell,” he grumbled. “Times like this I wish I’d retired years ago.” He stared hard into the alien’s unblinking eyes before shaking his head in resignation. “Fine. We’ll do this thing.”


	8. Chapter 8

Rena Rouge let out a sigh as she carefully slid the manhole cover back into place and climbed down the access ladder. The small holes in the cover allowed little pinpricks of light through, but barely enough for her to find each rung of the ladder. After the bright sunlight on the street, it would probably take a minute for her miraculous-enhanced night vision to catch up. She shoved her nose in the crook of her elbow and forced herself to breathe through her mouth.

Unfortunately, her miraculous-enhanced sense of smell was already working just fine…

“You okay there, babe?” asked Nino over the communicator. Not for the first time was Rena Rouge grateful that Max had connected their phones and miraculous communicators into a single system. While she would have preferred to have Carapace suited up right next to her while investigating a potential alien serial killer, she would gladly take Nino’s voice in her ear as a substitute.

“Just wonderful,” she retorted. “But I think I just found that month-old bouillabaisse Mom had to flush last week.” An entire pan of soup that her sous chef had forgotten about – wasted and rotting in the back of the refrigerator. Her mother had spent an hour berating the man before making him clean it out, only to fire him anyways. The miracle in the incident was that it happened hours before the hotel’s annual health inspection. And Alya knew all about it because her mother had spent the entire _week_ complaining about the incident!

That and, according to Chloe, Sabrina had nearly passed out on feeling the fired sous chef’s surge of negative emotions when she passed him in the hotel lobby.

Nino made a gagging noise. “That’s disgusting.”

“You’re telling me.” Rena Rouge pulled the end off her flute and rooted around until she finally found a nose plug. “Are your miraculous-senses this sensitive?” she asked irritably.

He laughed. “That might just be you. Mine are better than normal, but not quite good enough to know exactly which spices are going in the soup your mom’s cooking on the other side of the city!”

“That was one time. And besides, she _always_ uses Colombo!” She sighed heavily. “So what do you think?”

“Of Hugo?”

“Yeah.”

Nino hummed. “I’m not sure yet,” he admitted. “I mean, we definitely owe the dude something – he did save you twice already.”

“I know,” Rena Rouge acknowledged. She made a sound of disgust as she waded through muck up to her calves, holding her flute in front of herself as a flashlight to supplement her night vision, its red light reflecting off the walls and creating unusual shadows. “I’m not sure when Max would have found someone to get me last night if Hugo hadn’t been there to unfreeze me. So if he wants our help to get home, we totally need to help him out if we can. And if there’s another alien running around murdering people…”

“But…” Nino prompted.

“But something feels a little too… _easy_ about his story.” She frowned, playing her light along the sewer walls where she could see faint scratch marks. She took a couple pictures and sent them to Max. “At least _one_ part of his story definitely checks out: _someone_ has been living in the sewers this whole time – though there’s nothing to indicate whether this is from Hugo or from the murderer. And I’m not sure if living in the sewers for a year accounts for his ability to pick up French so easily.”

Nino was silent for a minute. “If things go sideways and you need me, I’ll be back home in an instant,” he promised. “I’m not gonna let little things like _international borders_ keep me from protecting you, babe!”

Rena Rouge giggled. “I know; it’s part of the reason I love you so much!”

“Only part?”

“Oh, there are other things,” she replied, giving her voice a sultry tone. Nino coughed and cleared his throat, and Rena Rouge smirked. Three years and she could still leave him speechless with a word.

The sewer wall fell away to reveal a shelf, a little more than five meters wide and four deep, set above the highest level of the water. On the shelf she could see what appeared to be bones, as well as a couple ratty old blankets. Climbing up onto the shelf, she felt around under the blankets to find an alien pistol as well as a handheld device with a cracked screen. She hummed thoughtfully. “ _Someone_ must have been staying here,” she told Nino, dropping to one knee to examine the pile of bones more closely. “There’s enough bones to account for a few months of hard living and scavenging for food. I don’t see any indication of whether they’re animal or…”

“What’s wrong?” Nino’s voice sounded worried.

“I’m not sure,” she reported, picking up what could only be a skull. “But this one sure _looks_ human…”

“Do you think… the other alien might have been _eating_ them!?!” Nino made a sound of disgust. “Remind me why you decided to look into this on your own again?”

“What, afraid I can’t take care of myself, babe?” Rena Rouge teased him. She sobered. “That’s definitely how it looks right now. Though appearances can always be deceiving.”

“Damn.” He was quiet for a minute. “Should I come meet you?” he asked.

She closed her eyes for several minutes, her miraculous ears turning in all directions. From all sides she could hear the slow, steady dripping of water on the sewer walls, the faint screeching of cars on the road surface several meters above. Finally she opened her eyes. “No, I’m fine. I don’t hear anyone else down here.” She smirked. “Besides, it looks like I have a _new_ reptilian protector now!”

Nino gasped in mock-horror. “Replaced so quickly!” he replied, laughing. “Fine! Maybe I’ll just go back to training with the Hound!”

Rena Rouge snorted. “Don’t beat Felix _too_ bloody! Though if you wanted to wipe that smug look off his face…”

He chuckled. “Just be careful. I love you, babe.”

“Love you, too.” Rena Rouge disconnected the call and hit another button on her flute to call Max.

“What have you found?” he asked promptly on answering.

“I found the place where someone was staying,” she reported, kicking aside a couple of bones that looked like they came from birds or small animals. “So he was at least telling that much of the truth.” She sighed heavily. “And I found what might be the remains of one of our missing persons.”

Max didn’t respond. “It appears probable that Hugo was telling the truth, then,” he finally observed.

Rena Rouge shrugged. “So it would seem,” she admitted. “But I wish he was _not_ telling the truth about this particular element.”

Max hummed. “Agreed. The very idea of an extraterrestrial serial killer active in Paris is highly disturbing.”

“The sooner we find and stop this murderer, the better,” she agreed, setting her jaw and giving the shelf one more cursory examination.

“Hugo assures me that the resupply ship will have the necessary sensors to locate the other alien,” Max reported.

“And you believe him?”

“Do you not?”

Rena Rouge laughed derisively. “What can I say? Maybe Lila burned me one too many times with her too-convenient lies and I can’t trust people I don’t know anymore. Maybe I wish we had a little more time to really look into this story instead of just taking him at his word. Maybe I just can’t think straight with my legs covered in crap!”

“Well, if his story is correct and there is an extraterrestrial murderer on the loose, we must act on it, correct?” argued Max.

“You’re right,” she admitted, frowning. “What have you and Hugo been doing?”

“He has helped me better understand some of the alien technology I have been studying,” Max replied. “He already helped me improve the next-generation drones so they can handle more varieties of missions. We have completed construction on the communication array and are testing the laser emitter at the moment.”

She nodded. “How far can this thing send?”

“The range is relatively short on a cosmic scale,” Max explained. “According to Hugo the transmitters on their ships are capable of transmitting a message over a light-year. However, this transmitter will have a range of approximately 30 light-minutes before the signal becomes too dispersed and distorted to be recovered.”

“That sounds like it’s still pretty far.”

Max laughed. “That is less than the average distance from Earth to Jupiter,” he told her. “We will need to be very precise if we are to contact Hugo’s supply ship.”

“Nino thinks we need to take this seriously,” Rena Rouge admitted. “What do the others think?”

“I have not heard from Adrien or Marinette yet, but it is the middle of the night there and their conference is taking the majority of their time. Chloe stated that she concurs with Nino’s assessment, although she is otherwise occupied at the moment,” Max reported. “Sabrina is cautiously on board with the plan. Unfortunately, she still cannot understand Hugo’s emotions beyond a general sense of unease and anxiety. However, she does acknowledge that to be an appropriate response under the circumstances, especially if a murderous alien is on the loose.”

Rena Rouge sighed. “Considering the time crunch, we don’t have much choice if we’re going to do this.” She frowned and gave the shelf a final look before climbing off it to return the way that she had come. “I only wish Sabrina could read his emotions better.”


	9. Chapter 9

Étienne stretched his neck in both directions until he heard a satisfying crack. He and his new alien “friend” had spent almost the entire day lying prone on the flat roof of an apartment building across from the Champs de Mars, waiting for something to happen. He sighed. When Victor had insisted that he alone had the best skill set to help him stop this Shunjar alien’s plan to contact the rest of his people, Étienne had hoped the skills he had in mind were his ability to think through an entire situation and see the solution faster than anyone else. Or perhaps his ability to hit a moving target from more than five kilometers away. Or even his abilities in hand-to-hand combat – both armed and unarmed he had been one of the most adept fighters in his unit.

Honestly, his sniper’s ability to lie perfectly still for days at a time under a blanket without losing his mind due to boredom while waiting for something interesting to happen was _not_ the top of the list…

For the fifth time that day, Étienne began another game of mental chess against himself. Next to him, Victor fidgeted restlessly while gnawing on a piece of beef jerky. “You know that stuff will just make you thirsty, right?” Étienne asked, not taking his eyes off his spotter’s scope. The sun was just starting to dip over the horizon behind them. He frowned as black lost its first pawn: the shifting sun might silhouette them from just the wrong angle if the heroes didn’t arrive soon.

“Sorry I don’t have your ability to lie still,” the alien retorted, flaring his nostrils in annoyance. “Are you certain this is where they will come?” he asked, holding the binoculars up to his eyes and turning them vertical so he could look through a single lens. “After all–”

Victor fell silent instantly and Étienne smirked as a glowing white portal appeared in the air at the base of the Eiffel Tower near the support leg closest to them. “As if they would have gone anywhere else,” he scoffed. “Tallest structure in Paris? Made entirely of metal? _Built like a giant antenna?_ ”

Victor dipped his head and let out a high-pitched cackle. “This is why I needed you for this job!”

“Back when Hawk Moth was a thing, it seemed like half his Akumas went after this stupid tower for some reason. The Lynchpin’s messed with it a time or two, also. Why _shouldn’t_ an alien invasion start at a park named for the god of _war_?” Étienne set the spotter’s scope aside and carefully switched to his rifle, adjusting the scope a tick to account for distance and wind. He watched through the scope as Pegasus, Rena Rouge, and the same tall greenish-brown reptilian alien he had encountered the night before emerged from the portal. Rena Rouge leaned casually against the base of the tower, watching the alien carefully through slightly-narrowed eyes. Pegasus dropped a large metal box to the ground and placed a device a little larger than a lunchbox on top of it. He passed two wires from the second device to the robot hovering next to his head. The robot rose ten meters into the air and attached the wires to the tower. Pegasus fiddled with a few levers, altering the direction of the two laser emitters on the top of the device. “You know, I could just shoot the green bastard right now,” Étienne pointed out, fixing his crosshairs over the alien’s forehead, his finger gently brushing the trigger.

“As tempting as that is, it would be unwise,” Victor warned, shaking his head. “Killing him will not show the Heroes that he was using them; for as noble-intentioned as they appear to be, they may choose to activate his device all the same so his people can claim the body. We need to stick to the plan.”

Étienne sighed as Pegasus removed a rectangular object from the top of the device and handed it to the alien. Pegasus pressed a button on the side of his device, and Étienne fired twice in quick succession.

“Hit!” Victor whooped, slamming his fist on the roof.

The other alien dropped the smoking communicator to the ground, shaking its hand in discomfort and spinning around wildly to look for the source of the energy pulse. Étienne allowed himself to relax slightly as he moved his scope to check on the two Heroes. Pegasus kicked the destroyed communicator device away and withdrew the horseshoe from his back before kneeling next to the transmitter. Rena Rouge, however, was looking straight at Étienne, staring at him through his scope. “They know we’re here,” he warned quietly as she and the alien ran in their direction.

“If we are really going to stop them, we need to get closer,” Victor told him. The alien grabbed the roof edge, levered himself over, and dropped the three stories to the ground, coiling his legs and rolling as he landed to cushion the fall.

Étienne dropped his rifle and jumped off the roof to follow him, allowing his climbing rope to move freely as he rappelled to the ground. On landing he released the quick-harness from his belt and raced across the street after the alien.

Rena Rouge and the green alien met them at the very edge of the Champs de Mars. Rena Rouge ran straight to Étienne, jumping and aiming a kick at his head the moment she was close enough. Étienne dove forward and rolled under her flying kick, allowing her to sail over his head. He sprang to his feet and raised his arms in front of his face to block her follow-up punch before dropping one arm to his side to counter her kick – she wasn’t putting all her effort into the fight just yet, he noticed idly. Her flute whipped around at his head, and he leaned to one side, allowing it to swing past him. A few meters away, the green alien pounced on Victor with a roar, his long talons extended and clutching at Victor’s side. Victor sidestepped around the other alien but stumbled over the other’s feet, falling to the ground and rolling back to his feet just in time to avoid being caught in the talons on the green alien’s feet.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” demanded Rena Rouge, dropping to the ground and sweeping Étienne’s feet out from under him.

“What do you _think_ I’m doing, Foxy?” he retorted, jumping over her leg and springing back away from her. He drew his baton and flicked it out to full length just in time to parry her swinging flute, redirecting it into the ground. He lay the baton along his forearm to block her next punch, ducked the follow-up, and slapped her side with the baton. “I’m trying to stop _you_! You’re making a mistake here!”

“Says the psychopath who just committed mass murder right in front of me yesterday!” She parried his baton, stepped inside his guard, and punched him in the stomach. He gasped as the air was forced from his lungs. “Who’s even now working with an alien _murderer_! One who may be _eating people_! But maybe I should have figured you’d team up with him: murderers travel in herds, I guess. So you’ll forgive me if I’m not inclined to take _your_ word for it!”

Étienne stumbled back a pace and groaned. “What the _hell_ are you talking about? Are you seriously going to contact aliens just because some other alien you met _last night_ told you to do it?” he demanded.

“Hypocritical much?” she scoffed, spinning into a double-kick aimed at his head. He ducked the first and blocked the second with his baton, pushing her away from him to the ground. She landed in front of him with her fists raised. “After all, it looks like _you_ joined forces with a _different_ alien since then!”

Étienne shrugged. “An alliance of convenience to make sure _you_ don’t do anything stupid. Like _contacting aliens_!”

“Hugo just wants to _leave_ ,” Rena Rouge insisted. “Taking your friend with him, too, I might add. As far as I’m concerned, the sooner they are both on their way, the better for all involved!”

Their fight had by now moved away from where the two aliens appeared locked together in a wrestling match. Victor, over a head shorter than _Hugo_ , had given ground and was fighting primarily defensively. Hugo had grabbed him by both shoulders, and as Étienne watched he pulled Victor in as if to rip out his throat with his teeth. Victor brought his own arms down on Hugo’s arms, breaking his hold, before sinking his teeth into the alien’s arm. Hugo let out a roar of pain, and Victor scratched his chest with his claws, slicing through his shirt and drawing blue-green blood. Victor dropped back several paces, raising his arms defensively. Hugo clutched his bleeding chest with one hand, his eyes trained on Victor.

“You can’t stop me!” Hugo shouted, advancing on him.

“You can’t succeed!” Victor retorted. “Whatever happens, I _will_ stop you!”

“Why?” Hugo scoffed. “We both want the same thing, right? We just want it for slightly-different masters.”

Étienne turned back to Rena Rouge. “He’s using you!” he shouted, catching her leg with his own and blocking her half-hearted attempt to trip him up. “You’re naïve if you think he _isn’t_ using you!”

“And you _aren’t_ being naïve?” she demanded. “How do you know that _your_ buddy is telling the truth? How do you know he isn’t trying to keep them both trapped here for his own purposes? How do you _know_ he isn’t what Hugo claims he is: an alien mass murderer who will keep on killing unchecked if we don’t stop him?”

Étienne grabbed her arm and leaned in until their faces were centimeters apart. “You need to listen to me!” He yelled, glaring into her eyes.

She swung her arm up and pulled him up off the ground before slamming him down on his back. He let out a startled gasp, staring up into her face. Kneeling over him she ground out, “Why? When have you ever given me a reason to trust you?”

“Look,” he wheezed, holding his hands up defensively in front of his face, “I know I’ve done things I’m not proud of, but the fate of our world is at stake!”


	10. Chapter 10

Rena Rouge knelt over Le Tirreur, her knee on his chest, holding her flute to his neck. She glared down at him angrily. “You say the fate of our world is at stake, but you haven’t given me any reason to trust you! Every time I see you, you are just trying to hurt people! Why is this time any different? How do I know the world won’t end if we _don’t_ contact Hugo’s people to come and pick up both him _and_ this other alien?”

“Come on, Foxy,” Le Tirreur groaned. “I don’t want the world to end any more than you do. But how is contacting aliens supposed to _not_ end the world?”

Rena Rouge scoffed. “You didn’t see what I saw in the sewers,” she told him. “Someone’s been living rough down there, and they’ve been _eating people!_ ”

“How do you know it’s not your _pal_?”

Rena Rouge shook her head. “I don’t,” she admitted. “But either way, I’d just as soon get them _off_ the planet before anyone else ends up as lunch!”

His eyes narrowed in confusion for a moment before he lifted his head off the ground, raising an eyebrow dubiously. “And you’re sure that’s what’s happening here?”

She drew back her flute to knock him over the head, but an orange blur from the other direction knocked her away from Le Tirreur. She tumbled off of him and rolled back up to her knees, glaring up at her attacker.

It was the other alien.

Le Tirreur took a wheezing breath and pushed himself up as Hugo charged across in pursuit of the other alien. Then Hugo looked at Le Tirreur and his eyes lit up. Le Tirreur groaned and held his baton firmly in one hand. “Fine, I was hoping for a chance at round two with you, anyways!” He spun his baton around in his hand and ducked the first punch from Hugo, dodging to his other side and striking the alien in the back of his arm. Hugo spun back around to face him, swinging his arm at Le Tirreur’s head, but Le Tirreur leaned back out of the way, coiled his legs, and launched himself into Hugo’s midsection in a tackle. Hugo stumbled backward off balance, dropped into a crouch, and threw Le Tirreur off of himself. Le Tirreur caught himself in a sprinter’s stance, backing away to gain distance from Hugo.

“What’s the situation, Pegasus?” Rena Rouge demanded, eyeing the orange-furred alien in front of her. She held her flute in a ready position, waiting for the alien to make the first move.

“I am attempting to reconfigure the transmitter, using my horseshoe as a new communicator device,” came the immediate reply. “Estimate no more than one minute to complete.”

The alien in front of Rena Rouge dropped one foot back into a stronger fighting stance as she copied the move. He clenched his fists in front of him and crouched, swaying slightly back and forth. She swung her flute at the alien’s head, and he blocked the strike effortlessly with his forearm, redirecting the flute over his head and spinning around to elbow her in the chest. She sidestepped around the attack and ducked below his kick, raising both arms to block his follow-up kick and push him away. He rolled through her block into a back-flip, and she moved forward after him, aiming a punch at his head. The alien ducked and went to sweep her legs out from under her. Rena Rouge jumped over the leg-sweep.

The kick to her side came completely out of nowhere.

Rena Rouge stumbled backward, missed a step, and landed funny on her ankle. Holding her flute defensively in front of herself she looked around wildly for the source of the attack but saw nothing. The alien was in the process of jumping back up to his feet. Pegasus and Turing were still crouching over the damaged transmitter, working feverishly to attach his horseshoe to the side. Hugo and Le Tirreur were still exchanging blows, with Le Tirreur not holding back at all in his attacks while Hugo almost appeared to be toying with him. As she watched, Le Tirreur aimed a roundhouse kick at Hugo’s head, and the alien pushed his foot away, unbalancing Le Tirreur. He landed awkwardly and stumbled backward a pace to regain his balance, and Hugo landed a kick to Le Tirreur’s chest, knocking him to the ground. Le Tirreur rolled backward away from the advancing Hugo and surged to his feet, narrowly avoiding another kick. The sharp talons on Hugo’s feet bit into the pavement where Le Tirreur had lain moments before.

So who could have kicked her?

She heard the wind whipping beside her face and lifted her flute just in time to block the blow. The alien who had been in front of her shimmered and disappeared, and a new one appeared to her right. She pushed his fist away with her flute and spun around to kick him in the chest. He dropped back a pace, planted his fist on the ground, and charged in a sprint. The air around him shimmered slightly. With a yell he swung his left fist at her, and she raised her own left arm to block the opposite side. His left fist connected with her and passed straight through, while the opposite one connected with her blocking arm. The alien gave her an indecipherable look and stepped back.

“I have no desire to fight you, Rena Rouge,” the alien told her, ducking below her swinging flute and holding up his hands with the palms open and facing her. “In fact, I have been observing you for months to protect you.”

Her heart stopped and she stared at him in shock, a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. “‘Months’?” she repeated, her mouth hanging open, eyes wide in horror. All the times in the last several months that she had felt eyes on the back of her head, staring at her from the shadows – the Agreste investigation, Spring Break… she had thought she must be growing paranoid. But now… And some of those times, she had been a civilian, with Nino or her family! What kind of investigator did that make her, to not have known? How could she have allowed herself to be watch for months without looking into it further? That he had learned her identity wasn’t even a question! What had he seen? What had he _wanted_ to see? Her grip on the flute tightened involuntarily.

He nodded. “Do you remember the night you chased a van across the city and hid on a warehouse roof to observe the warehouse next door where the van had stopped?”

She stared silently, eyes narrowing, daring him to continue.

“You made a noise when you crossed to the other warehouse, and two men climbed onto the roof to investigate,” he explained.

She set her mouth in a thin line, eyeing him suspiciously. “Of course I remember,” she replied. “Hugo claimed _he_ was the one who knocked those men out.”

“If he was the one who did it,” began the other alien, giving her an intense look, “then how would I know that there were two of them, and that they were struck in the back of the head? How would I know that the moment you saw them, you dove off the roof directly into the water to escape from them? It was after midnight and cloudy; no one could have seen what happened unless they were there.”

Her jaw dropped open in horror. “So it was _you_?” she demanded, eyes flaring furiously. “ _You_ were the reason I felt eyes on me all the time for the last few months?”

The alien nodded mutely, eyes wide.

Rena Rouge felt swallowed down bile. “ _WHY?_ What would make you _do_ something like that?” she yelled. “Why would you _follow_ me? _Watch_ me and my boyfriend? _Why?_ ” She glared at him and raised her fist to strike. “Why should I believe a word you say? If you _did_ save me back then, why are you fighting us right now? Why didn’t you say anything back then if that’s the case? And who has been murdering people, if not _you_?”

“I suppose there is nothing I can say to make you believe me,” the alien admitted, his ears laying flat against his head. He let out a breath, steeled himself, and stared hard at her pointing past her at the sky above Eiffel Tower. “But you need to know the truth before it’s too late!”

At the base of the tower, Pegasus had just hit the button to bring the transmitter back online. “Just two minutes and we will be able to send the message,” he reported. The laser on top of the transmitter made a small adjustment at the same moment that something appeared in the sky above the tower.

From the corner of her eye Rena Rouge could see that the alien had closed his eyes, an expression of extreme discomfort twisting up his face. But all her attention was drawn upward to the massive spaceship that dwarfed the Eiffel Tower. Colored pitch black but with green and brown stripes running down the sides, it had an angular prow and sweeping wings flaring up above its fuselage on either side. The protrusions emerging from the underside of the ship resembled nothing so much as missiles and cannons. The edges of the ship shimmered as it hovered in midair, making no move to land. Her eyes widened in shock. “ _That_ ’s supposed to be a supply ship?” she gasped, jaw hanging open.

From several meters away, Hugo pumped his fist in the air. “It worked!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday means another “Patrol Log”! However, the “Patrol Logs” don’t happen concurrent with the main stories; they have relatively little connection to the timeline, though characters introduced in this story will eventually appear in “Patrol Logs.”


	11. Chapter 11

Pegasus stared up in awe at the enormous vessel that had just appeared in the sky directly above the Eiffel Tower, the screwdriver with which he had repaired the transmitter hanging limply in his hand. Jets scattered across the underside of the ship held it in a hover at least three kilometers above the ground. Interspersed with the jets were rounded protrusions that broke up the otherwise smooth surface – a cursory analysis would suggest they could be either detachable storage containers or sensor arrays. From below, the dark hull appeared oblong, flared out near one end and coming to a narrow point on the other end. Although he could not determine a frame of reference given the ship’s altitude, from the way it appeared to cover half the Champ de Mars he estimated the length to be close to 500 meters, with a width of 400 meters at the widest point.

“Are you recording this?” he finally managed, not taking his eyes off the ship.

“Affirmative, Pegasus!” Turing reported beside him excitedly, turning to point his cameras upward. “Although it appears visually, the craft must have some form of heat shielding – it does not appear on infrared.”

Pegasus furrowed his brows. The level of technology to mask the extreme heat doubtless being put out by the engines visible on the ship’s underside was far beyond terrestrial capabilities – even with Hugo’s assistance, he had no idea if it was possible to override the laws of thermodynamics in that way! Without taking his eyes off the ship, he fumbled around for his horseshoe and pressed a couple buttons to focus the transmitter on the downturned front end that probability indicated would house the cockpit/bridge. Another command sent the pre-planned text message requesting acknowledgement. Finally he tore his gaze away from the alien ship to consult the horseshoe. “There is no response to our hail!” he called into his communicator.

“Let me try it!” instructed Hugo from the far side of the Champ.

Pegasus glanced over to where the other four were to find Le Tirreur, Rena Rouge, and the other alien all staring up at the ship, while Hugo was watching him. Catching Hugo’s eye, Pegasus threw his horseshoe to the alien, who caught it deftly with one hand and began typing quickly on the screen in the center of the horseshoe. Turing dropped down a screen to display the message. “Can you translate it?” Pegasus asked the robot.

The robot bobbed in affirmation as French text appeared below the alien language. “While developing the transmitter schematic I analyzed Hugo’s textual notes,” he explained. “Based on that analysis I can extrapolate probable meanings to fill in the rest of his language. Consequently, my translation is accurate within a 13% margin of error.”

Pegasus nodded and quickly read the message. His blood ran cold.

“This is Captain, Scout Ship 1143. Planet ready for assimilation.”

“‘Assimilation?” Pegasus’ eyes shot wide open.

Turing chirped. “Based on the phraseology of his schematic for the laser emitter array of the transmitter, that is correct within–”

Pegasus tuned out the robot’s analysis and looked up to find Hugo staring at the horseshoe as though waiting for a response. The ship above their heads hung motionless in the sky. But suddenly his analysis of the protrusions on the bottom of the ship had to change with this new information – weapons emplacements, dozens of them. The shape resembled nothing so much as a giant bird of prey… He found Rena Rouge next to the new alien, still staring into the sky at the alien ship. “Rena! Hugo played us!” he shouted. “It is an invasion!”

Hugo looked up from the horseshoe and met Pegasus’ eye. His lip curled up into an approximation of a sneer. Rena Rouge looked over at Pegasus, her jaw dropping open in shock. She gave Le Tirreur a glance and bobbed her head at him before racing toward Hugo.

“Send the SOS!” Pegasus ordered Turing, eyes wide. “Deploy drones! Target Hugo, Override Code Pegasus-1!” The top of the drone carrying case flew open automatically, knocking the transmitter to the ground, and the three new drones he had finished constructing that afternoon lifted off instantly. As they cleared the carrying case each drone deployed the two miniature energy cannons mounted on the bottom side and turned in the direction of Hugo under Turing’s instructions. Satisfied, Pegasus looked up to find the alien ship and started searching its underside for a weak spot. If only he had not used his Voyage to get them there…

The searing energy blasts to his side caught him completely off-guard.

The first salvo from two of the drones’ energy cannons struck him just under his armpit and knocked him to his hands and knees. Turing spun wildly out of control, a high-pitched mechanical whine coming from the rotor’s melted servo, the blades having been sheared clean off by an energy pulse from the third drone. Pegasus lunged forward, caught the robot centimeters from the ground, cradled him gently to his chest, and turned his forward momentum into a somersault as the second salvo from all three drones hit him squarely in the back along his shoulder blades. He fell forward, catching himself with one hand on the ground.

“Pegasus?” asked Turing, fear in his voice and confusion visible in his eye display for the first time since Pegasus had activated him. “What happened? I–I have no control of the drones! I can’t fly – my rotor does not respond!”

Pegasus squeezed his eyes shut in anger, forcing back the tears of pain that sprang into them and blocking out the heat of the drones’ energy blasts still pounding his back. Although his miraculous suit was impervious to penetrating weapons, it did little against the heat and kinetic energy imparted by energy attacks. Again and again the drone shot. He could feel the heat burning the skin underneath his suit. The drones’ carrying case was right in front of him, and he reached out one hand to slide Turing inside, shutting the lid. “Stay here, buddy,” he told him, throwing a glare over his shoulder at the drones, running through calculations in his head. “I will take care of this!”

Pegasus shoved the drone case away from himself in the direction of the Eiffel Tower, where it came to rest just behind the closest support leg. In the same motion he kicked off into the air, spinning around into a back-flip that carried him above the drones’ firing range in a parabolic arc. The drones dipped at the rear to follow him, still firing, some of their misses peppering the Eiffel Tower’s legs without causing more than cosmetic damage.

Near the apex of his jump, Pegasus flipped the screwdriver around in his grip and reached out to grab the nearest drone by one of its four rotor struts. The drone managed another shot, catching him in the arm, before he jammed his screwdriver into the mechanism and pried out the wires connecting the battery to the motor. Still in the air, he threw the now-inert drone to collide with the next-closest drone. The second drone’s next shot struck its sister’s battery pack, detonating it centimeters away. The fireball consumed both drones, which fell to the ground in a pile of molten plastic and metal. Pegasus landed on his feet half a meter from the third drone and spun around to avoid its follow-up volley. He ducked underneath it and drove the screwdriver up into one of the drone’s rotors, sending it into an uncontrolled fall as it attempted to correct its flight less than two meters from the ground. The drone flipped upside-down before slamming into the ground, the energy cannons spinning around in a vain search for their target. Pegasus brought his foot down on it, smashing the drone to pieces. He dropped to his knees, panting, and put a hand on his side where he had been shot the first time. The skin felt hot through his suit.

He groaned: he might have stopped his out-of-control drones, but there was still an alien invasion. And he had just lost one of his newest and best weapons.

Pegasus glanced up into the sky, only for the alien ship to blink out of existence.

Hugo wore an expression of shock and confusion on his face as the ship disappeared. The other alien collapsed to his hands and knees, gasping and wheezing. Hugo whipped around to glare at him. “You!” he shouted, charging, his arms spread wide and talons extended.

Rena Rouge and Le Tirreur stepped in front of the other alien to protect him from Hugo. Rena Rouge dropped to the ground and swept Hugo’s legs out from under him just before Le Tirreur tackled him to the ground. Hugo pushed Le Tirreur off of himself and swiped at him with his talons. Le Tirreur caught the talons on his baton and redirected them away from his chest. Rena Rouge pounced on him, but Hugo rolled away and sprang to his feet. He took one look at his two assailants and then past them at Pegasus before turning on his heel and running away.

Pegasus stumbled to his feet to reclaim the drone case. Too weak to pick it up, he slid it across the pavement with his foot until it rested beside the fallen transmitter. He collapsed to the ground and leaned back against the Eiffel Tower’s support strut, closing his eyes. He heard Turing push the case open with his manipulating arm and poke his head out.

“Pegasus? What happened?” asked the robot, sounding confused.

“I would like to know the same thing,” Pegasus observed, not opening his eyes as Rena Rouge and Le Tirreur approached, supporting the other alien between them.


	12. Chapter 12

Rena Rouge rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand and bit back a comment. She crouched next to Pegasus, holding a cold compress to his side just under his armpit. For his part, Pegasus had his eyes closed, leaning forward while Impératrice Pourpre held another couple cold compresses to his back. Although Turing had canceled the alert the moment he had recognized the alien ship to have disappeared, Impératrice Pourpre had already been on her way from home; when the alert was canceled she had called Rena Rouge immediately for an update and stopped at a pharmacy on the way. Seeing the look of concern on Impératrice Pourpre’s face while tending to Pegasus, Rena Rouge was forcefully reminded of the last time their roles had been reversed, when Impératrice Pourpre had told her about Carapace’s team being ambushed at Rouen. At least Carapace had been uninjured when they returned; Rena Rouge could imagine the thoughts running through Impératrice Pourpre’s mind at the moment.

Telling _her_ what had happened had been bad enough, considering that Pegasus had been injured by his own drones. Rena Rouge was _not_ looking forward to explaining all of this to Ladybug and Cat Noir eventually. Her flute had already rung twice in the last five minutes with Ladybug demanding to know why she’d been woken up in the middle of the night for an SOS only to have it canceled before they reached the Australian portal ring. Rena Rouge hadn’t answered either time. Unfortunately, she didn’t have anything to tell her yet…

Her flute rang again, and she looked down to see the red-and-black Ladybug symbol requesting a video call. “Of course,” she muttered. Pegasus gave her a look. She shrugged and handed it over to him.

Pegasus answered. “Uh, everything’s under control. Situation normal.”

Ladybug gave him a look of surprise, her head cocked to one side. “What happened?”

“Uh, we had a slight weapons malfunction, but uh... everything's perfectly all right now. We're fine. We're all fine here now, thank you. How are you?” Pegasus smirked, but it turning into a wine as he leaned into Impératrice Pourpre’s shoulder.

“Oh, you know, we were asleep – it’s 3 in the morning here! So–” She stopped, her mouth open. They could hear Cat Noir laughing in the background. Ladybug’s eyes narrowed. “You were quoting _Star Wars_ at me!?! _Why were you quoting_ Star Wars _at me!?!_ Give me back to my ‘bestie.’”

Rena Rouge took the flute and grinned sheepishly. “Hey, girl…”

Ladybug’s eyes flashed angrily. “Explain. Now.”

“Um, I… don’t actually have an explanation for you because I don’t really know what happened myself but if you let me get the answers I promise I’ll call you back in like four hours when you’re supposed to be awake?”

Ladybug groaned and rubbed her temples. “Make it one. There’s no way we’re going back to sleep again after this.”

Rena Rouge nodded. “You got it boss. Sorry.”

“I forgive you. Just…” Ladybug trailed off, a troubled look in her eyes. “Don’t worry me like that, girl.” With that the call disconnected.

Rena Rouge sighed. _Now to get those answers…_ She fixed her gaze on the orange-furred alien who had introduced himself as “Victor.” Everything had seemed so much simpler yesterday, when aliens were a distance concept. Yes, they certainly existed – the Heroes had recovered enough of their artifacts to confirm that fact – but there was no evidence of living aliens on Earth. Well, they had received incontrovertible proof of two different aliens from two different races, both living in Paris, at least one of whom had just tried to initiate an alien invasion, and now Rena Rouge really wished Impératrice Pourpre had picked up more than just a two-pack of Advil!

“So you can create illusions,” Rena Rouge stated to Victor, eyes narrowing. “That ship just now, that was you.”

The alien nodded. “That is a crude description, but yes,” he replied. His face contorted in what she could only describe as a frown, his ears drooping. “I apologize for everything that has happened – especially for your teammate’s injuries.”

Pegasus scoffed around a wince. “I have burned myself worse on a stove,” he retorted. “And I suppose it is my own fault for not checking Hugo’s work after he assisted in redesigning the drones this morning.”

Impératrice Pourpre squeezed his hand and pulled his head over to rest on her shoulder. “You couldn’t have known this would happen,” she consoled him, wrapping an arm around his back carefully.

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” he admitted. “But it was a very hard-earned lesson.” He picked up Turing and turned the robot over in his hands. “I am sorry,” he whispered. Louder he explained, “I will need to rebuild his rotor, and a few circuits may need to be replaced. It could have been so much worse, however.”

“I do apologize,” Victor told them, his lips turning down. “I did not think that you would believe me if you didn’t see the Shunjar’s true colors for yourselves. Our planets have been at war for centuries, and the Shunjar have spent decades attempting to bring other races into the war on their side to turn the tide against us. If you had gotten a message out to them, it almost certainly would have led to an invasion and to your planet being militarized and dragged into the war.”

“But did you have to actually _allow_ us to get a message out?” Rena Rouge demanded.

Le Tirreur snorted.

Pegasus glanced down at the transmitter, traced a finger over one of the wires, and chuckled. He held up the severed wire that had connected the device to the Eiffel Tower. “You truly did think of everything, did you not?” he observed, giving Le Tirreur a nod. He grimaced, and Impératrice Pourpre put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently, shifting the cold compress as she did so.

“I guess _someone_ had to!” Le Tirreur commented, raising an eyebrow at him.

Pegasus gave him a sheepish look. “Thank you,” he conceded. “This has delayed his people’s plans – whatever they ultimately were. It will take him some time to accumulate the necessary components to build a new transmitter,” he added. “Some of the parts were scavenged from the debris field in orbit and did not come from the escape pods we found. The probability that he will find someone else able to acquire those particular components is so low as to be incalculable.”

Rena Rouge nodded and let out a relieved sigh. “That’s good to hear.” She turned to Victor, fixing him with a piercing gaze. “So what do _you_ want from us for stopping your enemy from doing what he wanted to do, or should I take a wild guess?”

Victor laughed derisively. “Obviously I would like to go home,” he replied, “but for the moment I cannot do so – not while this Shunjar is running around attempting to bring your planet into the war.”

Rena Rouge glanced at Le Tirreur and arched an eyebrow. He gave her a dubious look. She looked over at Impératrice Pourpre, who gave her an uncertain nod. Pegasus shrugged noncommittally. “I think we’re ‘first contacted’ out at the moment,” Rena Rouge told Victor finally, setting her lips in a thin line. “Considering that we’ve made ‘first contact’ with two different aliens in about 24 hours, and the other one tried to start an invasion… If you want our help, you’re going to have to earn it.”

Victor nodded in resignation. “I understand that I still need to prove myself to you and earn your trust.”

“We’ll talk to our friends and see exactly what that means,” Rena Rouge promised.

Le Tirreur sighed and stood up to leave, stretching his arms as he did so. Rena Rouge rose to follow him. Near the edge of the park she said, “I should thank you for your help.”

He shrugged. “I really don’t want to see the Earth subjugated by intelligent raptors, so it wasn’t just for _your_ benefit.”

“What are you going to do now?” she asked, fixing him with a curious gaze.

“I still have a score to settle with Lynchpin and Night Bat,” he replied. “And I’ll keep my eye out for your lizard friend – ‘Hugo,’ did you call him? But after all of that – if I’m still alive – who knows?”

“If we share information, we might be able to help each other out,” she pointed out again. “Though you really do need to stop killing people.”

He let out a bark of laughter. “You and I will have to agree to disagree on that point, Foxy,” he told her. “I have my way of doing things; you have your way. Still, I guess you heroes are alright as long as you aren’t messing around with alien invaders.” He jogged across the street to the building where his harness still hung. But before reattaching it, he turned and gave her a two-finger salute. “See you around, Foxy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of “It Came from Outer Space.” The next story in the series will be “The Hound and the Maiden,” after a few more chapters of “The Woman out of the Fridge.” All of the characters in this story will appear again, some sooner than later. I especially want to thank Lyger 0 (on FF.net) for their reviews; while I didn’t change the trajectory of this story significantly, I did rethink my future plans with the Shunjar and Volpine and how their war will play out from a terrestrial perspective – the fact that one of the alien races tried to initiate an invasion doesn’t exonerate the other one…


End file.
